Splinters
by beaujolais
Summary: An explosion at a crime scene nearly claims the life of Jim Brass. Along the road to recovery, a friendship grows and a daughter returns. Mostly BrassCatherine friendship but with a hint of GSR. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The idea for this pairing started when I was watching the S1 through S4 DVDs. Brass and Catherine had a lot of interaction and great chemistry together, something that faded in S5. So, if you see things that don't jive with what we know now, it's because this was started long before S5, before Catherine took a turn for the ugly, before the team split and well before Hollywood Brass aired. I guess that means it's got spoilers for everything between "Pilot" and "Mea Culpa".**

**As always, my thanks go out to Merc because like me, she has some serious Brass love and she's a great writing inspiration. Oh, yeah, I don't own CSI or any of the characters and get nothing from it but the joy of writing Jim Brass.**

**oooooo**

**1422 Holland Lane, Las Vegas, Nevada**

"Sir, I think this is for you."

Captain Jim Brass took the envelope and stared at the three capitalized words handwritten on the front. "Where'd you get this?" he asked the officer.

"A guy handed it to me. Said to give it to the officer in charge. That's you, right?"

"Yeah, that's me. Did you get a look at this guy?"

"Not a good look. I was standing in front of that crowd of looky-lous over there and this guy in a dark blue windbreaker and a Mets ballcap handed it to me."

Brass felt along the envelope then feeling nothing suspicious, opened one end and looked at the sheet of paper he pulled out.

_There is a bomb inside. It will detonate at 4:15am. You have been warned._

Brass quickly looked at his watch, 4:11am, then sprang into action. Hoax or not, he wasn't taking any chances.

"Get these people back! Get 'em all the way back!" he yelled at the policeman as he sprinted for the front of the house, the paper and the envelope falling from his hand.

He didn't have time to think; only react. Three CSIs were inside with the crime scene: his job, his responsibility.

Brass threw open the door, ignoring Catherine's strong protest about contaminating her crime scene. "Willows, Stokes, there's a bomb in here. Get out now!"

Catherine saw the look on Brass' face and knew better than to argue. Instinctively grabbing her kit, she was out the door and across the porch in seconds.

Frantically looking around the room, Brass felt his pulse pounding in his neck. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. "Where's Sara?"

"Upstairs," Nick said hesitating as he reached the door.

"Go, Nick!" Brass glanced at his watch again as he took the stairs two at a time. Three minutes. "Sara!"

Sara Sidle was in the farthest bedroom, camera poised, still snapping pictures of the broken window and glass-covered carpet. Her concern wasn't with the commotion Brass was making; her concern was gathering as much evidence as possible.

"Sara, we've got a bomb in here! You have to leave now!"

She looked up to see a panicked, sweating Jim Brass hustling towards her. Grabbing her by the arm, he jerked her towards him.

"Hey, what the hell? I'm not done in here!" she argued back irritably, the camera swinging free from her grasp.

"What part of _bomb_ did you not understand?" he asked, giving her no time to answer or react as he pulled her down the long hallway then pushed her ahead of him as they raced down the stairs. She might have been younger and faster but Brass had adrenaline on his side. He was with her step for step as they hit the landing but as she bolted through the front door, he felt the hairs on the back of neck stand on end. They weren't going to make it.

"Shit," he said, reaching out protectively for Sara and using his body to protect hers just as 1422 Holland Lane exploded into the cool, clear Nevada sky.

**oooooo**

Sara opened her eyes, vaguely aware of what had just happened, and stared blankly at the grass. She could feel the vibration of thundering footsteps on the ground but only heard the continuous buzz of white noise in her head. She tried to move: arms, legs, anything, but only felt the oppressive, unmoving weight on her back and for a moment, she began to panic.

Then clarity.

She remembered the last seconds: Jim Brass was right behind her as they hit the front porch; he had put his arm around her shoulder. It was his weight pressing against her back now and he wasn't moving.

"Brass?" Nothing. "Jim!" She was shouting, partly because she couldn't hear her own voice and partly because of the overwhelming anxiety she felt. Faintly, the sound of voices carried past the incessant hum in her ears; she knew help had to be on the way but it did nothing to calm her fears.

Ignoring the stab of pain in her shoulder, she extended her right hand and reached out for Jim's wrist then carefully twisted her fingers so she could feel for a pulse. Nothing. That didn't mean anything, she told herself, once again trying not to panic.

Not letting go of his hand, she began to give it a gentle squeeze at regular intervals, praying that he might respond to the pressure. Several long minutes later she thought she felt him move.

"Brass? Come on, Jim! Stay with me!"

This time there was no mistake as his fingers grasped hers. The moment was brief but it was enough to let her know: he was alive.

**  
**

It took Brass several minutes for his sluggish brain to process what had just happened: a house, a note, a bomb, an explosion. Sara. Where was she?

He tried to call out her name only to have the words catch wetly in his throat, trapped along with the tortured gasp for air he struggled to take. Locked in the grip of cold and despair, one face drifted in and out of his conscience, one little blonde-haired girl whose smile could melt his heart.

_Ellie._

She was there with him now, holding his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, just like she had done all those years ago, when they'd walked up to Old Man Smoot's corner store for ice cream.

_Don't let go, daddy._

He didn't want to let go but his thoughts were running together now, anxious and indistinct, making it impossible to focus as darkness encroached.

Ellie, like the rest of his life, was slipping away.

**oooooo**

Catherine Willows slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes as bits of debris fell off her clothing and hair. She was afraid at what she would see; unfortunately, her fear was justified.

The two-story house they had just vacated for the safety of the other side of the street, had been leveled to a heap of collapsed wood, shattered glass and bent steel. Particles of dust still drifted through the air, settling on neighboring yards, cars and people. But what caught her attention directly after the explosion wasn't the wreckage or the lack of movement from the front yard—where she had last seen Brass and Sara. It was the deathly silence.

And then chaos.

Car alarms, sirens, screaming onlookers, shouting policemen, and victims, caught by the falling debris, crying for help all seemed to erupt at once in a mass of confusion and panic.

"They made it out, didn't they?"

The fear in Nick's voice mirrored what she felt. "I saw them," she said, still feeling the shock of what had happened.

Looking around, processing the scene in slow motion, she saw a woman sitting on the back of an ambulance, blood covering her face, and in the distance she could hear the sound of more sirens. Across the street, police officers and paramedics were rushing in, their attention focused on one area, their voices carrying on the still air.

Maybe they found Jim and Sara.

"I'm going to help," Nick said, nodding to the officer working the crowd then jogging over to join in the search.

Catherine remained on the curb, conflicted by what she should do. Part of her wanted to rush in and help but part of her couldn't stand the thought of what they might find. Sara was a co-worker, someone she didn't always see eye to eye with but a friend nonetheless. Jim was…

Catherine let out a long, shuddering sigh at the thought of losing Jim. She'd known Jim Brass since he came to Vegas. They'd commiserated over divorce, kids and cheating spouses together. Sometimes she felt like he was the only one who really understood what she had to deal with, never judging her for her mistakes.

A sudden shout cut through the night air, shaking her from her reverie. Jogging across the road, she stood clear of the fray but close enough to see the men carefully removing chunks of wood and twisted metal.

Jim was going to be okay—they both were. She wouldn't let herself think otherwise.

**  
**

"Over here!" The voice was loud and male, probably close by but Sara still couldn't be sure.

Jim hadn't moved again in the last five minutes and now she was becoming acutely aware of the pain in her shoulder and the wetness soaking through the back of her shirt. Not wanting to think about what that meant, she tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere but they kept coming back to the same place.

She remembered the hard push in her back as Jim forced her to the ground and she remembered the feeling of the earth move under her—like the earthquakes she had grown accustomed to back in San Francisco. But they had been clear of the house before the explosion, hadn't they? Whatever hit them would have been secondary or tertiary injuries, not primary. How bad could it be?

Concentrating, she tried to recall the text she had read not so long ago: secondary meant flying debris and that could mean penetrating injury or blunt force trauma. Brass would have shielded her from the worst of it, leaving himself exposed to the brunt of the debris. Realizing the implications, that Brass could be dead, she closed her eyes and clasped hold of his hand, refusing to let go and praying help would hurry.

**oooooo**

It felt like hours had passed before the noises became louder. Voices, indistinct, shouting orders, sirens, and debris falling to the ground and then suddenly a rush of cool air on her face: help had finally arrived. A man was on his knees in front of her, talking to her, and several long moments later the weight lifted off her back.

"Are you okay?"

She still couldn't quite hear him but she understood his question. Nodding, she immediately asked, "How's Jim?"

"Let's get you checked out, okay."

Sara nodded slowly, aware of what avoidance of a direct question meant, and didn't protest as he examined her right arm.

"I'm going to get this immobilized for you and then we're going to transport you to the hospital, okay?"

He must have known she couldn't hear him very clearly because he was looking directly at her and speaking slowly.

He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "Sit tight. I'll be right back."

She didn't move. She couldn't. Something else held her attention. Right now, Sara was focused on the scene playing out not ten feet away, oblivious to what the attending paramedic was now doing to her arm.

She watched, unmoving, emotionless, as they tore away the bloodied blue shirt, the same one she had complimented him on earlier, and frantically tried to save Jim Brass' life. She knew what they were doing but it really didn't matter. What did matter to Sara Sidle had more to do with why: why she was sitting on the ground, living, breathing, feeling the morning sun beat down on her head, while others were trying desperately to keep a slightly cynical homicide detective alive. Their roles should have been reversed.

He should have been sitting where she was; she should have been fighting for her life. It wouldn't have been the first time. She was used to it.

Looking away, Sara saw Catherine kneeling on the ground beside her, viewing the same grim scene that she saw, and welcomed the comforting squeeze of her hand. Tearing her eyes away, she glanced over at the crowd of onlookers and suddenly felt very angry.

"Can't they get them out of here? None of those people know him or care about him. They're just here out of morbid curiosity."

Before Catherine could think of a response, Nick Stokes came up beside her. "Hey, Sara, how you holding up?"

When she didn't answer, Catherine pointed at her ears, diffusing Nick's curious look and making him nod his understanding.

Turning his attention to Catherine, the younger CSI said, "I found the note but Simms says he remembers there was an envelope too. He said he thought Brass tossed them both to the ground when he took off for the house." Nick turned his attention to the paramedics and watched as they still labored over the detective. "He's hurt pretty bad, isn't he?"

"The paramedics say he's got a penetrating chest wound. They can't transport until they get him stabilized." Catherine replied in a voice much calmer than she actually felt.

Nick dropped his head, feeling the sadness in the situation. While Brass wasn't a CSI, he was like one of the team—a friend. He might have been a pain in the ass sometimes but Nick genuinely liked the guy.

He couldn't watch any more. Standing up, he walked over to Sara and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. When she looked up at him, he smiled.

"Not much left of our crime scene," Nick said, nearly shouting.

Sara looked around at the surrounding devastation, at the debris that had buried them both for what seemed like days but in fact was less than twenty minutes. It was a miracle really. If Jim hadn't been so insistent; if she had lingered at the scene just a few seconds more; if either of them had been a half a step slower…

Shuddering at the thought, at the realization that Jim's life still hung by a thread, she watched as they carefully loaded him onto the stretcher then wheeled him over to the waiting ambulance.

"Can I ride with him?" she asked the paramedic.

The young man shook his head. "I'm afraid not. We have a nice, shiny carriage just for you."

"I want to go with him. He saved my life."

"I understand but there's no room. You're going to the same place so you can check on him when you get there."

**  
**

Catherine stood alone, watching as they loaded one of her closest friends into the back of the ambulance. She had asked if Life Flight wasn't a better option; they had nearly exhausted the "golden hour" and now it was down to minutes but the paramedic had assured her that this would be just as fast. Catherine understood. Neither way really made a difference. Jim would be lucky if he made it to the hospital alive no matter which option they took.

The door closed and the ambulance squealed away from the curb, siren echoing in the still of the early morning. With her arms wrapped around her chest, Catherine suddenly felt the chill in the air as worry, stress and fatigue bore down on her.

Looking around at what had once been her crime scene, she noticed Agent Rick Culpepper and the handful of men in dark windbreakers. FBI had jurisdiction in a bombing; now it was their crime scene. For once Catherine didn't care. They could have all the evidence, the splintered wood, the bomb fragments and anything else they found. Too many other things were important now.

**  
**

"I called Grissom," Nick was saying. "He's working another investigation but will be at the hospital as soon as he can. Anyone you'd like me to call?"

Sara shook her head. "Just let me know about Jim, okay?"

"Will do. See you at the hospital." He gave her hand a squeeze then waved as they loaded her into the back of the ambulance and shut the door.

**  
**

Sam Vega reached down to pick up the bloodied, torn tan jacket, removing the badge from the breast pocket.

"Can I? Just for a minute."

Vega stared at Catherine for few beats before handing it over then slowly resumed gathering up the rest of Jim's possessions and putting them neatly into a clear plastic bag.

She held the gold badge in her hand, feeling its weight, running her fingers over the seven-pointed star. Noticing the flecks of blood and dirt across the embossed face, she carefully ran the facing over the sleeve of her shirt, polishing it until it once again shined. Feeling the growing lump in her throat, she handed it back to Vega before slowly, numbly walking to her truck and climbing inside.

It wasn't until she was alone, away from the media, from Ecklie's team, from Culpepper and the FBI, from the prying onlookers that Catherine Willows allowed herself to cry.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

**Desert Palm Hospital**

Sitting, waiting, she curiously looked down at her hands, at the dirt under her fingernails. It was a stupid thing to notice but she couldn't help staring at it. It seemed odd really that something so ridiculously mundane should hold her attention like that but it did. And then realization struck her. It wasn't dirt; it was blood: Jim's blood.

"I need to wash my hands," Sara Sidle said to a passing nurse as she sat alone on the bed.

"Just hang tight. A doctor will be with you in a minute."

The woman didn't understand. No one understood. Sara needed to wash her hands _now_.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to keep from crying but the tears fell anyway.

**oooooo**

"Catherine."

Looking up at the sound of her name, she recognized the unmistakable walk and let out a heavy sigh. Somehow the sight of Gil Grissom made her feel a little relieved. He couldn't make the situation any better but if the news were bad, she'd have a shoulder to cry on.

"They told me Jim's in surgery." Grissom's expression exuded a controlled coolness but his voice gave away his anxiety. "Any word?"

She looked at the floor and felt the exhaustion weigh on her shoulders. "No."

"What about Sara?" He asked the question with more urgency than he intended but if pressed, it was his concern for her that really brought him upstairs. He'd thought she was in surgery as well.

"She was still down in the ER as of a few minutes ago. Nick went down to see how she was doing. She was pretty shaken up to say the least but I think she's okay. Jim took the brunt of it."

Grissom took a seat next to her, feeling a pang of relief. He needed to see Sara but right now, Catherine needed him. "What happened? I heard about the explosion but not many details."

"We haven't pieced together much but one of the officers said someone passed him an envelope addressed to the 'officer in charge'. He passed it to Brass and Jim opened it. Apparently, our bomber was nice enough to give us a head start."

"Sounds like you weren't his primary target."

Catherine stared ahead, processing his words. "You mean maybe the killer was trying to cover his tracks and we just happened to be in the way?"

"He sets the timer for the bomb to detonate so many minutes after the crime," Grissom said as he talked through his theory, "destroying any evidence left behind."

"Only someone discovers the bodies too soon and calls it in."

"And now he's got police and investigators on the scene, more than he bargained for."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "A killer with a conscience, that's a new one."

"Anything significant about the scene?"

"The husband was Raymond Shabibi, I'd say that's probably significant."

Grissom's eyebrows went up. "The WLVU professor?" Shabibi had been all over the news recently for his extremely contentious comments regarding the terrorist attacks on the United States.

"Yup. Brass had already confirmed it."

"This could be a hate crime then."

"He certainly pissed off a lot of people."

"There's going to be a long list of suspects."

"You mean the FBI's long list of suspects," Catherine said. "It's not our case any more. Culpepper and his boys were doing the walkthrough before I left and Atwater called in the day shift to assist with processing. This is one time I'm not going to argue."

"Right," he answered in a voice that told her he wasn't as willing to let it go as easily as she was. "I don't suppose you have any evidence left?"

"Nick and I got out with our kits and cameras so we have a few prints and photos but not much. Sara was working upstairs. I'm sure she left her kit when Brass..." Catherine's voice trailed off as she saw the scene play out in her mind once again: Sara leading the way through the front door, Brass close behind and then the deafening explosion.

"Any chance you or Nick photographed the onlookers? Bombers are like arsonists: they like to watch."

"Doubtful." Like everyone else in the vicinity, she and Nick had only been concerned with getting as far away as possible.

Hearing her resigned sigh, seeing the fatigued expression, Grissom asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she looked at her hands, still shaking after almost three hours. "You should probably check on Sara."

Grissom stood up then hesitated. Seeing the sadness in Catherine's eyes, he reached out and touched her shoulder. "He's going to be okay."

"Is that a hunch?"

He shook his head and in a dead serious voice said, "I don't believe in hunches."

**oooooo**

"Sara, honey, are you all right?" Gil recognized the look in her eyes right away and knew that physically, she might be okay but mentally, she was still in shock.

With most of the ringing in her ears now dissipated, she looked up at the sound of his voice and her bottom lip began to quiver. She wanted to hold it together; show him that she was tough and this only left her a little shaken. But she wasn't that strong. The tears began to fall.

"It was my fault." She looked at her hands again, grateful that Nick had helped clean most of the blood off. "It was my fault he got hurt," she repeated. "I wouldn't leave."

Grissom knew he should do something, say something comforting and reassuring, but he was on very unfamiliar ground. Women and their emotions made him uncomfortable, not because he thought they were unjustified—if anyone had justification for breaking down, it was Sara. He just wasn't sure what to do.

He started to reach out for her hand when the curtain parted and a doctor carrying X-rays entered. "Ms. Sidle," he glanced at Gil. "Are you a relative?"

"I'm her supervisor."

"Let him stay," Sara said. "Please?"

The doctor glanced from Sara's pleading expression to Grissom's steadfast glare and consented. "All right." He turned on the viewbox and stuck the films in place then proceeded to explain what she already knew.

Sara only half listened. She didn't care anyway. Once again she'd had her brush with death, only to skate by with a few minor injuries while someone else took the full impact. The last time it had been Greg. This time it was Brass. When would it be her turn?

**oooooo**

Catherine sat alone in the waiting area, staring blankly at a pale landscape painted on the light blue wall in front of her. She was exhausted but no matter how many times she closed her eyes, she saw it all again: Jim Brass on the ground, the two Paramedics frantically trying to keep his heart beating. What stayed with her the most though was how pale he looked. No one alive ever looked like that.

Forcing herself to shift her gaze, she wished she wasn't alone. Nick had joined her shortly after Grissom had gone down to the ER to find Sara and they sat in companionable silence for nearly a half hour before she insisted he go home and get some sleep. He'd reluctantly agreed but only if she promised to call with any news. That was nearly two and a half hours ago.

Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, Catherine looked up to see a weary scrubs-clad man ambling down the corridor towards her. "Ms. Willows," he started, taking a seat in the chair next to her. "You're here for Captain Brass?"

She nodded, her stomach clenching tightly with apprehension. _Where the hell is Gil?_

"Friend or family?"

"Friend."

"I'm Doctor Sabien. I'm the surgeon who operated on Mr. Brass. Do you know if his family has been contacted?"

Dropping her head, feeling more than a little embarrassed, she shook her head. "No," she said letting out a long sigh. Catherine suddenly realized that for all the time she had known Jim Brass, for all the conversations they had shared, she really knew very little about his family. "He's got an ex-wife back in New Jersey and a daughter God knows where but other than that, I don't know. Maybe one of the detectives took care of it. Personnel should have access to his file, I could check with…"

"It's okay," the doctor said. "I'm not going to worry about protocol right now but if he does have family, they need to know." His expression conveyed the seriousness of the request.

She understood. "How is he?"

"We just moved him into the ICU. There were a couple of complications but I'm confident he's through the worst of it. He's had some trouble breathing on his own so he's still intubated and on a ventilator. He'll probably stay that way for at least the next 10 to 12 hours, just to give him a little extra pressure to inflate his lungs. We'll monitor him for any complications but I think it's really going to be a matter of seeing how he does with infection and the transfusions." He tried to stifle a yawn but failed. "Sorry, long night."

Catherine yawned too. "I know what you mean."

"You work graveyard?"

"Yes."

"So this is probably well past your bedtime. I'd suggest you go home, get some sleep and come back tomorrow. We'll know more then."

Glancing at her watch, realizing she'd been waiting for more than six hours, she agreed. "Can I see him—before I leave?" Noticing the flecks of dirt and dust on her dark pants and yellow blouse, she realized it was a ridiculous request.

"Sorry, visitation in the ICU is limited to immediate family only; they're very strict about that. If he remains stable over the next twenty-four hours, I'll have him moved to a private room. You'll be able to visit him then. In the meantime there's a window if you'd like to look in on him."

Catherine thanked the man then followed him over to the large picture window a few feet down from the entrance to the ICU.

"I'll ask the nurse to open the blinds once he's settled." Doctor Sabien headed down the corridor, stopping to talk to one of the nurses and motioning in Catherine's direction.

The wait was relatively short but she had to look twice to see him and even then, the man lying there didn't look like the Jim Brass she knew. With the tape holding the breathing tube in place, obscuring his face, it was only the short, dark hair that looked familiar. She stood by the glass for several minutes then slowly walked away, trying to put the image out of her mind.

This wasn't how she wanted to remember him.


	3. Chapter 3

**ICU - Desert Palm Hospital**

The morning of the second day and Jim Brass was slowly becoming aware: of loud blips and beeps and of unfamiliar voices talking loudly, but mostly, he was becoming aware of being uncomfortable. There was definite pain radiating from his back, his chest and his shoulder, but what bothered him most was the heaviness in his arms and legs. He tried to move his hands and feet only to find that the command he gave with his brain didn't seem to be reaching his extremities.

The strange sounds conflicted with his last memories, leaving him confused and disoriented. There was a note and a bomb. Sara was upstairs; he had to reach her but he still couldn't make his legs work. He tried to call out but when he took a breath, he felt nothing but a rush of hair, the sensation irritating his lungs and making him cough.

The sudden sound of an alarm bell chiming loudly by his right ear caused his heart to race. The bomb was about to explode and he couldn't find Sara. Another alarm sounded, joining with the other to create an alternating buzz and now his anxiety became overwhelming. The sense of urgency felt oppressive. He had to make the sound stop before the bomb detonated. He had to find Sara.

He began to thrash, suddenly aware that his brain had finally made contact with his arms and legs, pulling at whatever was in his throat. People were talking at him, yelling things he couldn't understand. He needed to make them understand that Sara was in danger but they couldn't hear him, not with this thing stuck in his throat.

Hands closed on his wrists, on his ankles, holding him down but he continued to struggle. He had to; Sara needed him. But as hard as he tried to free himself, the more his energy faded until at last he could fight no more. As his limbs once again grew heavy, suddenly, none of it mattered any more. As he drifted slowly into unconsciousness, his last thoughts were of Sara Sidle and how he had failed her.

**oooooo**

Night had descended on Las Vegas, bringing the city alive in neon. Inside the Desert Palm Hospital, however, a quiet calm settled over the ICU as the swing shift nurses went about their evening routine.

Dressed in blue jeans, a cotton shirt and a light jacket, her right arm supported in a sling, the dark-haired young woman stepped out of the elevator and followed the signs. Loitering in the waiting area, she knew what she was about to do was wrong but apart from Catherine's vague _he's out of surgery and in ICU,_ no one had given her any good answers. Sara had to see for herself.

She watched as they wheeled out one patient, craning to see if it was Brass, relieved when it wasn't, then waited until the aide and nurse disappeared down the corridor. Boldly, Sara pushed open the door to the unit and quietly slipped in.

At the far end of the unit sat a nurse at a desk, filling out her paperwork no doubt and definitely not expecting visitors. Quickly scanning the row of beds, she found only two occupied. In the bed closest to her, she found Jim and now she couldn't seem to make herself move. The rush of guilt and anxiety left her standing frozen in place just inside the room.

He was lying there fighting for his life all because she wouldn't leave. One more minute and they would have been clear of the house; one minute she wasted by arguing with him. One minute between life and death.

_One fucking minute_.

She pounded her fist against her thigh as tears of anger ran down her cheeks and dripped onto the white tile floor. "I'm so sorry, Jim," she said aloud. "It was my fault and I'm so sorry."

"What are you doing in here?"

The voice made Sara jump. "I had to see him," she said quietly, suddenly feeling exhausted and cold. "No one would tell me anything."

The woman's features softened. "Are you family?"

Sara shook her head. "No, we work together."

The ICU nurse studied the young woman. "You were in that house explosion with him."

"He saved my life."

Jocelyn Dirisio wasn't a cold-hearted woman. She'd been a critical care nurse for too many years to not recognize the necessity that drove this young woman. It was as much a part of her healing as it was his. "I shouldn't do this but I'll give you one minute."

Sara nodded her thanks and took one tentative step towards the bed.

"Talk to him. Let him know you're here."

Sara turned sharply, once again startled by the woman, and slowly came to stand by the side of the bed. Carefully, she reached out her hand and touched his forehead, surprised by how warm his skin was. He looked so pale; she hadn't expected that.

His eyelids slowly opened and closed then opened once more and she leaned forward, into his line of sight. His right hand came up unsteadily, bumping against her side. Reaching out, resting her palm against his, she felt his fingers tighten around her small hand. Seeing the slight nod of his head, Sara knew.

Like her, he just needed to know.

**Las Vegas Crime Lab**

"Gil, got a minute?" Catherine came into his office and took a seat in the chair in front of his desk.

Grissom looked up from his paperwork, took off his glasses and cocked an eyebrow. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

"Jim."

"He's on all our minds. Everything okay?"

"I stopped by the hospital on my way in. He spiked a fever so he's still in ICU."

"Fever is a sign of infection and that's not good." His tone was more matter of fact than informative.

"I spoke to one of the doctors and he said if he doesn't show any improvement by morning, they're going to take him back to surgery."

"And you're worried."

"Hell, yes, I'm worried. Aren't you?"

"Catherine, Jim is my friend too."

She let out a deep sigh. "I know. I'm sorry." Her shoulders slumped in exasperation. "I just feel so helpless."

"Unfortunately, there's not a lot we can do right now."

"But there's something I can do later, when he gets out of the hospital."

Gil admired her optimism. He hadn't quite thought that far ahead yet. "Yes, there is."

"He doesn't have any family."

"He has a daughter."

"Yeah, right. Have you ever met her?"

Gil shook his head.

"Me either but from what I hear, that's a kid who should have been a wet dream. Warrick was able to locate his mother but she's in an assisted care facility in New Jersey so we decided not to tell her unless…"

Grissom put up his hands. "Catherine, stop. I know Jim will have difficulty managing on his own and I think it's great that you want to help. I'll give you all the time you need so don't worry."

She got up to leave. "Thanks." Lingering at the door, she turned. "By the way, how's Sara?"

The corner of Grissom's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. "Physically, she's okay."

"Mentally?"

"She's struggling."

"She needs you. You need to be there for her."

Frowning, he lowered his gaze to the papers on his desk and said simply, "I know."

xx

To be continued in chapter 4


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much to all who've left reviews. I really appreciate it!**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Desert Palm Hospital**

Four days after the explosion and Jim Brass slowly opened his eyes, his vision fuzzy at best. Hearing the rhythmic beep and hum of machinery, smelling the sterile surroundings, he knew instantly where he was.

Turning his head, he squinted at the figure sitting next to the bed, vaguely recognizing the strawberry blonde hair. A name floated through his memory but he was aware enough to know it wasn't her. That name belonged to a part of his life he'd left behind. He struggled to remember, to put the right name with the face. And then clarity.

"Catherine?" he croaked in a voice that sounded foreign to him

She lifted her head, startled at the sound of her name, but then saw Jim looking at her and smiled. "Hi there."

He turned his head back and stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend the strange numbness that engulfed his body. There should be pain or cold, some kind of sensation but instead there was nothing except a soreness in his throat that felt like he'd spent the last few days yelling.

Seeing him grimace as he swallowed, she said, "You had a tube down your throat until yesterday. Want some ice chips?"

Nodding, he felt grateful when she spooned them into his dry mouth. "How bad's the damage?"

Standing next to the bed, leaning on the railing, she said, "Well, my crime scene's completely destroyed."

He shook his head slowly.

She grinned at him. "Oh, you meant you?"

Catherine sat down in the chair next to the bed and hesitated before finally resting her hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. She was suddenly aware that he was watching her, waiting for an answer, studying her face in an extremely disconcerting way. She wouldn't be able to lie to him; he'd know in a minute.

She couldn't tell him how lucky he'd been, how he'd gone into cardiac arrest before they could even load him into the ambulance, how a five inch piece of wood that splintered in his chest missed his heart by less than an inch or how he nearly bled out once they removed it. Right now, he didn't need to know about the nasty infection that sent him back to surgery yesterday morning and left her once again staring at the pale landscape painted on the light blue wall in the waiting area. Later, when he was stronger, she'd tell him how much she hated that goddamn painting.

Right now Jim Brass only needed to know the positives. He wasn't ready for the whole truth—not yet anyway.

"You gave us a pretty good scare but the doctors assure us you'll live." She offered more ice chips and he accepted.

"Didn't know you cared."

His voice was devoid of its intended sarcasm but Catherine knew what he meant. "Yeah, well, you know how hard it is to break in a new homicide detective."

"I'm touched." He grew very quiet then asked, "Still got all my parts?"

She laughed. "Everything is still attached but a few things might be a little worse for wear right now."

His eyes closed heavily then slowly opened. "Don't feel anything."

Looking at the morphine drip, she said, "Be grateful. I suspect they've got you pumped up on some fairly good drugs right now. When those wear off, I imagine you'll be raising all kinds of hell with the nurses."

He cocked an eyebrow and grinned briefly before his expression turned serious. "Sara okay?"

"A little banged up but she's doing just fine."

He smiled again. "Good."

"You saved her life."

"Had to."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Licking his dry lips, hovering on the edge of sleep, he managed to say, "Grissom would've killed me" in a voice barely above a whisper.

"You need to get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

His eyes were closed again but he nodded slowly.

She gave his hand a squeeze, unconcerned when he didn't squeeze back. He was out again.

Catherine stood beside his bed for a little while longer, trying to reconcile her feelings. For reasons she couldn't quite figure out, she didn't want to leave. Maybe it was necessity—the need to be there for a friend—or maybe it was something else, something deeper and more obvious that she really wasn't ready to admit to just yet. Taking a seat in the chair next to his bed, she made herself comfortable. Whatever it was, it kept her there, waiting and wondering.

**oooooo**

The girl looked completely out of place as she stepped off the elevator and stopped at the nurses' station.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for James Brass. They said he was on this floor."

The nurse referred to a patient list and then looked up. "His visitation is restricted to family and…"

"I'm his daughter," she replied with attitude. "I guess that makes me family, doesn't it?"

The RN stared her down for a few beats before relenting. "Room 306, just on the left."

The girl turned, her long blonde hair swinging emphatically, and scanned the room numbers. She should have known instantly which one was his; the rent-a-cop sitting by the door should have clued her in. But then, she never figured herself to be all that smart.

The security officer stood up, halting her effort to just walk into the room. "Got some ID?"

"I'm his daughter. See the family resemblance?"

Quite frankly, he didn't. "Sorry, unless you can show me who you are, I can't let you in."

She noticed his right hand resting on the handle of his gun and rolled her eyes. Digging through her canvas bag, she dug out a wallet and her driver's license. Thrusting it out for him to see, she tried her best 'bored' look.

"Ellie Rebecca Brass," he read aloud. "All right, you can go in."

She snatched it back from the man and pushed the door open. Entering, seeing the equipment with its tubes and lines running like cables to the bed, to her father, her entire tough girl demeanor melted away. She had spent the last eight years hating him, rebelling against everything he stood for but this was different. This time he couldn't fight back.

"He was awake a little while ago but he's in a lot of pain so they're keeping him pretty doped up."

Ellie had been so focused on him that she jumped at the sound of another voice.

"Catherine Willows."

"I'm Ellie."

"I know."

Ellie's head turned sharply.

"He talks about you all the time."

"Yeah, I bet."

Catherine shook her head in a way that might have been construed as pity. "Yes, he does." Staring at the young girl for a long moment, seeing something painfully familiar in her demeanor, she continued. "Look, whatever beef you have with your dad is your issue and this isn't the time or place for it. Right now, he needs you."

"Oh, yeah? Where was he when I needed him?" She glared at Catherine, daring her to respond.

But Catherine Willows didn't back down. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, he's about as close to the bottom as he can get right now so why don't you just come over here and give him a good, hard punch in the gut?"

"I don't have to take this."

"Yeah, you do." Catherine crossed her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to her back foot. If this girl wanted a battle, she was ready for a fight. "Don't you get it? Your father nearly died."

"It was only a matter of time before someone got to him."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "There's bitter and there's bitch. You're obviously the latter."

"I had lots of time to work my way up."

Catherine really didn't want this confrontation but the girl seemed to draw it out of her, much to her surprise. She felt compelled to defend Brass. He might not have been the best father but it was obvious he loved his daughter. Catherine was a parent; she understood that love. Whatever they did, whatever they said, they were still your flesh and blood.

"What is it with you? You spit on him, try to humiliate him in public, and still the guy adamantly defends your innocence against strong evidence to the contrary. Being the uncaring father that he is, he tries to find you only to end up getting his head cracked and coming very close to losing his badge." Catherine grinned coldly, knowingly as she took in Ellie's expression. "You didn't know that, did you?"

Incredibly, the girl shook her head but her smirk remained.

"The point is, being a parent means unconditional love. No matter what you do, you're always going to be his little girl and he'll do everything he can to protect you even if it means losing his badge." Catherine wasn't quite sure who she was speaking to more at that moment: Ellie or Lindsey. It could have easily gone either way.

"That's just it." Her demeanor mellowed slightly. "He still sees me as his little girl because that's the only time he was there to see me. Ask him about the years in between. Ask him where he was on my 10th birthday. Ask him what he got me on my 11th birthday. Wanna know what I remember most about my dad? His back. Cause every time I saw him he was going out the door."

Catherine listened to this girl, heard the vehemence in her words and silently wondered if it wasn't a prelude to what would be coming from her own daughter in a few years.

"If you feel so bitter towards him, tell me one thing. Why'd you come here?"

Ellie swallowed, her mouth set in what seemed to be a permanent frown. "Maybe I do care." The girl was quiet for a long time, never moving, only watching. "The woman who called…she didn't say what happened."

"There was an explosion at a crime scene we were investigating." Catherine took a deep breath as the magnitude of what could have happened hit her once again. "He made sure we all got out alive."

Ellie could say a lot of things about her dad, most of them not very nice, but she'd never call him a coward. When she was a little girl, she remembered hearing how he'd saved his partner's life, pulling him out of the line of fire during a raid on a crack house. Maybe that's why she still felt so much animosity towards him. He could face drug dealers, mobsters and murders but he could never seem to face her.

Not venturing any closer, she turned her attention back to the bed and asked, "Is he going to be okay?"

Catherine had heard the details from Warrick and didn't know what to expect when she saw her enter the room. Her body language was still full of attitude but her eyes told the real tale. Deep down, she was nothing more than a scared girl.

Leaning on the railing almost protectively, Catherine said, "He had us worried for a while but yes, he's going to be okay."

She was quiet for a long time, just staring at the motionless figure on the bed. "Good," she said at last. "Tell him I came by, okay?"

"Won't you stick around a little while longer?"

"No, this way works best." She started for the door then stopped. "Are you his girlfriend or something?"

"No, just a friend."

Ellie shrugged as Catherine tried to discern the look that flashed across the young girl's face. Regret?

Without another word, the girl slipped from the room, back to the lit corridor. And just like that, she was gone.

xx

To be continued in chapter 5.


	5. Chapter 5

**Desert Palm Hospital**

Lying back on the pillows, Jim Brass stared at the ceiling for the umpteenth time. He'd had a steady stream of visitors since they moved him out of ICU two days ago and he was dead tired but he couldn't seem to sleep. Every time he tried one of the nurses appeared with something to either stick in him or squeeze out of him.

It was good to see the guys though: Nick and Warrick from the Crime Lab, Vega, O'Riley and several of the guys from PD. It was nice to be missed. But what really got to him the most had been when Catherine told him that Ellie had been by for a brief visit. Even though his daughter hadn't made another visit, that bit of news cut through all the pain, the discomfort and the fatigue, and left him feeling optimistic. Maybe there was hope for Ellie and him after all.

Still, one person remained conspicuously absent.

Grissom had assured him that Sara was okay but Jim had his doubts. Physically, she might be fine but Sara always buried her emotions deep, choosing instead to immerse herself in her work.

His thoughts were interrupted by a light knock at the door and for a moment, he'd hoped it was Ellie. However, the sight of Catherine Willows managed to make him smile anyway.

"You spending so much time here, people are going to start talking."

Catherine came around to the side of the bed and leaned on the rolling table. "What, you getting tired of me?" she asked, noticing that, although he was still pale, the brightness had returned to his eyes. She also noticed that he was freshly shaved and that he wasn't wearing the usual hospital gown, leaving his chest and the nasty surgical scar to the left of his sternum exposed.

Oblivious to the scrutiny he was getting, he said, "Nah, I like the company. It's nice having someone around who's not trying to poke or prod me."

"Now there's a mental image I didn't need." Catherine glanced around the private room, checking out the array of flowers. "You're a popular guy."

"Must be my overwhelming charm and good looks."

"Uh, huh." One large garish arrangement caught her attention. Stepping over, she read the card aloud, "Rory Atwater? Didn't know he cared."

"Nothing but the best for Las Vegas' finest. He spell my name right?"

"Yeah, Jim _Brash_."

"I was kidding."

"So was I." Smiling, she wandered back to his bedside. "Well, here's some news for you. They were able to get a couple of prints off that note—besides yours, of course," she said in mock consternation.

"I did think about that after I read the note but getting you guys outta there seemed more important at the time."

"And I never said thank you." Catherine held the cup of water while he sipped from the straw.

"I should be the one thanking you."

"Why?"

"Well, for not calling my mother for starters. She's in one of those assisted care facilities back in Jersey and it probably would have killed her to find out something happened to me. She and my dad, they never wanted me to be a cop."

"Oh, yeah?" Catherine sat down in the chair next to the bed.

He was shaking his head. "My dad was a longshoreman. Never went to college. I was the first one on either side to go. Got a hockey scholarship but knew I wouldn't make it professionally. I wasn't physical enough."

Catherine raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yeah, I know," he smirked. "Anyway, I graduated with a degree in history and then I decided to be a cop. It was my idealistic phase or something, I don't know. My mom and dad were disappointed in me though. My dad told me I threw my education away being a cop." He shrugged his right shoulder.

"No disrespect to your father, but he was wrong. You're a damn fine detective, Jim."

"Thanks," he said with an embarrassed little smile. "But I got off on a tangent. I really wanted to say thank you for being here." He looked at her intently as he said it, almost daring to look away, pleased when she didn't.

"It's the least I could do."

There was a palpable quiet between them that left him uneasy. "Hey, how's Sara been? Haven't seen her."

Catherine looked away for a moment then took a deep breath before once again meeting his expectant gaze. "She's had a hard time dealing with this."

"Poor kid. Had to be fairly traumatic for her. Sure as hell was for me."

"I don't mean the explosion so much as she's had a hard time dealing with what happened to you."

"Me?"

"She blames herself."

"She blames herself for me getting hurt?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "She had nothing to do with it!" He winced as his outburst caused a sudden sharp pain in his chest.

"Go easy." She stood up quickly and put her hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

He nodded, taking a minute to catch his breath before continuing. "Sara can't be living with that kind of guilt. She didn't know what was going on. She was just being Sara."

"You know how stubborn she is."

He was still adamantly shaking his head. "You gotta get her to come and see me. I'll set her straight."

"I don't know if it'll help. I can just imagine what sort of images are still running through her head. She was sitting right there, watching them work on you…"

"It was that bad?" Jim had very little recollection of anything after the explosion. He'd been told that his heart had stopped at one point but other than that, he hadn't gotten too many details and truthfully, he didn't really want to know. He knew he'd come precariously close to dying and that was already more information than he needed.

Catherine nodded. "It was that bad."

"What hit me?"

"A lot of the shrapnel but what did the most damage was a chunk of wood—most likely a piece of 2x4. The surgeon said that your shoulder blade and your ribs probably saved your life."

Swallowing hard, he shifted his gaze to hers and for a brief moment saw the pain in her eyes. Quickly, he decided he didn't want to talk about it any more. "You get a hit off those prints?"

"Not yet but we're all hopeful. You know the FBI is heading up the investigation, right?"

"Yeah, Grissom mentioned it when he stopped by the other day. He said they think the bombing and the murders are related to a hate crime."

"Well, someone certainly had a grudge against Shabibi and his family. Looks like whoever's responsible knew something about explosives."

"Were they able to gather any bomb fragments?"

"I think so but you know how cooperative the Feds are."

Jim nodded, understanding what she meant. He'd clashed with Rick Culpepper, a special agent for the Las Vegas FBI, more than once.

"Hey, I have a question for you." Catherine leaned on the table again."How come you don't have an emergency contact?"

"I do have one."

"Oh yeah? Who?"

"You." He cocked his head and smiled. "Didn't I mention it?"

She crossed her arms and gave him her best stern look. "Uh, no, you didn't."

"I guess maybe no one mentioned it since you were already here."

"Maybe." She looked at him skeptically but didn't argue. She knew he did it because he valued and trusted her as a friend and for that she felt a little flattered. Besides, apart from her and Grissom, there wasn't anyone else he was particularly close to in Vegas. No one she knew about anyway.

A knock on the door preceded the entrance of a short, East Indian man in a white coat—Jim's doctor, Catherine presumed.

"Good morning, Mr. Brass," he said in voice nearly devoid of an accent.

Seeing Catherine, the man smiled, displaying an impressive mouth full of straight, white teeth. "Hello, I'm Dr. Kapoor, Mr. Brass's attending physician. You are?"

"Catherine Willows." She took his hand and gave it a firm handshake, noticing, not for the first time, what soft hands doctors always seemed to have.

"You are family?" As the doctor spoke, he fingered a button above Jim's head, slowly lowering the bed so that his patient was now flat on his back.

"No, just a friend. Look, maybe I should wait outside?" Catherine wasn't sure what he was about to do but somehow she suspected it might be embarrassing for either her or Brass. Besides, watching the cop so obviously in pain made her feel more than a little uncomfortable.

The doctor gently rolled Jim onto his right side. "That's not really necessary. I'll be finished in a moment. Let's just see how everything is progressing."

She couldn't see what was happening but Brass was alternating between wincing and gritting his teeth until finally he let out a long, low grunt that sounded almost like a growl.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brass," the doctor said, as Jim was once again prone. "I know that was very painful." He pressed the button and watched as the bed returned to an upright position, taking some of the pressure off Jim's injured back.

Still trying to recover, his thumb hitting the PCA button, Jim couldn't muster a reply—probably a good thing considering that what he was thinking about Dr. Kapoor at the moment wasn't very nice.

Catherine could see his white-knuckled grip on the bed and suddenly felt as if she were intruding on something very personal. It was hard seeing someone in pain, harder when that someone was a good friend. Thankfully, the worst seemed to be over.

The doctor did a quick exam of the scar on Jim's chest then checked the chest tube. Reading over the nurse's notes, he frowned as his eyes wandered over the clipboard. "Your temperature is a little high."

"Does that mean more infection?" Catherine had moved closer to Jim, her hand resting against his arm.

Dr. Kapoor tilted his head, regarding her in earnest. "Infection is always a concern but in a wound like this, there is a good possibility for a recurrence." He returned his attention to Brass. "I'm going to start you on a stronger antibiotic. If your temperature continues to climb, I'm afraid we'll have to schedule you for another trip into surgery."

Catherine had a hard time hiding her concern. "So this is in addition to the post operative infection he had?"

Jim glanced over at the doctor, waiting for an answer while silently worshipping whoever had invented the Patient-Controlled Analgesia. The pain was nearly gone now, replaced by an altogether pleasant numbness.

"Mr. Brass was hit by a piece of wood that splintered inside his chest." Trying to put it into laymen's terms, Dr. Kapoor explained, "Whenever a foreign object enters the human body, it introduces bacteria. Sometimes the body is able to resist the bacteria but in this case, when the system has had a serious shock and sustained a good deal of badly damaged tissue, infection is likely to occur and an already taxed system has to work a little harder.

"We try to help the body with antibiotics but sometimes the infection is much more established. In that case we must back in, open up the wound, and drain off the fluid or cut away the dead tissue, which is what we did a few days ago. Unfortunately, with this type of wound it is not uncommon to see a recurrence so we will continue to monitor it closely. A low-grade fever is normal under these circumstances, but if the temperature spikes, then we might have reason to be concerned." The doctor glanced from one to the other, satisfied that he'd answered her questions, then spoke to Brass: "All right then, I'll see you later."

Jim nodded his thanks hesitantly as the doctor left the room. Somehow he couldn't help but think of Doc Robbins's recent attempt to explain to him how fabric had ended up deep in the tissue of a gunshot victim. That explanation had made Jim feel slightly queasy. This one made him feel downright sick, particularly since it pertained to his insides.

Catherine touched his arm, reminding him that she was still at his side. "You okay?"

"I am now."

Amused by the slightly dopey look on his face, she could tell that the pain meds had kicked in and he was on his way out. "I'll see you later," she said but his eyes were already closed.

**oooooo**

Sitting in the parked car, hidden amongst the rows of other cars, Sara Sidle stared at the healing cut on the back of her right hand. The scar left behind would be a constant reminder of what happened but right now it kept her from getting out of the car and walking the short distance to the entrance.

She couldn't explain why it had taken her this long to gather up her courage and make the drive to the hospital or why she couldn't make herself go any further.

Jim Brass was a good guy, a bit paternal sometimes but she figured that was more because of what had happened to Holly Gribbs than a desire to be some sort of father figure to her. Even before the explosion, she knew Brass would be looking out for her. He always did. And maybe that was the root of her guilt: he'd been trying to protect her while she nearly managed to get him killed.

In many ways Jim was the lucky one. According to Catherine, he had very little recollection of what happened. But Sara remembered. She saw it all, replayed it over and over in her mind, felt it all in painful detail. For her the physical wound would heal but the mental scars would linger.

Turning the key in the ignition, she put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. No, today wasn't the day.

Maybe tomorrow.

xx

To be continued in chapter 6.


	6. Chapter 6

**Desert Palm Hospital**

"Please tell me this wasn't your basic pipe bomb." Jim said, picking at the lime green Jell-o with the unidentified beige substance on the top then dropping the fork and pushing away the tray.

Curious, Gil Grissom stuck his finger in the topping and tasted it. "Cool Whip."

"Huh?"

"The topping. Oh, and it wasn't your basic pipe bomb. The lab found traces of RDX, the explosive material in C-4, the same plastic explosive used to blow a chunk out of the USS _Cole_ a few years ago. This one had a detonator triggered by a very sophisticated timing device."

"How do you know all this? I thought the FBI was handling it."

"They are," Grissom replied with smile. Continuing without a further explanation, he said, "It was someone who knew something about explosives, not some kid playing around on the Internet. His intent was to bring the house down. If you hadn't acted so quickly, I'd have lost two good friends."

Jim looked up at Gil and for a moment, he thought he saw more than a hint of emotion in the bugman's eyes.

"You were damn lucky, Jim. You both were. The shrapnel that hit you and forced you and Sara to the ground, probably saved your life."

"Yeah, I've thought about that luck thing a lot lately." Jim was still playing with the Jell-o, randomly stabbing the wobbly gelatin with a fork. There was something bothering him and even though he knew Grissom was the one to ask, he wasn't sure if Grissom had an answer. "Gil, is Sara mad at me?"

Grissom was quiet for a moment as he tried to formulate a response. Sara hadn't talked to him about what happened—as far as he knew, she hadn't spoken to anyone about it. But Sara didn't need to tell him. "She's not mad at you, Jim. If anything, she's mad at herself." 

Remembering the conversation with Catherine, he let that explanation suffice. Instead, he said sadly, "I miss her, you know?"

Grissom did know. He knew that Jim looked out for Sara and he completely understood why. Jim was still carrying the weight of Holly Gribb's murder and on more than one occasion, Sara had shown a tendency for reckless behavior. Brass wasn't going to let it happen to another CSI, even if it meant putting himself in danger.

"Give her time. She needs to reconcile this within herself before she can take the next step."

"And I'm the next step."

"Yes." Gil looked at his watch and got up from the chair. "Some of us have places to go."

"Yeah, I'm just laying here, soaking up disability and watching _Days of Our Lives_." Jim picked up the plate of Jell-o. "Hey, while you're at it, take this stuff back to the lab and analyze it. I'm fairly certain it's not from this planet."

Grissom laughed as he left the room.

Jim laid his head back on the pillows and let his mind drift. As much as he enjoyed the visits, each one seemed to leave him completely drained. On one of his frequent visits Dr. Kapoor had warned the detective that his activity level would be limited for quite some time but given that this conversation followed one of Catherine's visits, Jim had the distinct feeling the doctor wasn't just referring to his ability to climb stairs. The thought of that little inference made him smile even if it wasn't a possibility. He and Catherine were just friends and apart from a handful of dates here and there, Jim hadn't been in a serious relationship for almost two years now. Not many women were willing to put up with the job or the hours. His past was a testament to that; his future wasn't looking any brighter. Good thing he wasn't the suicidal type.

His life hadn't exactly been the happily ever after he'd hoped for on his wedding day. He knew he was playing against the odds; that marriage and law enforcement didn't go together, but his parents had a good marriage and he always wanted what they had. Somewhere along the way though, it all went horribly wrong and now all he had to show for it was fragments, pieces of a little girl's broken childhood, of a broken marriage, of a broken career. His marriage was long a lost cause; he knew that when Nancy stopped hiding the fact that she was screwing around, when she'd thrown it in his face that Ellie wasn't his. He still remembered the argument that led to the final crushing blow: the revelation that Mike O'Toole had fathered Ellie. Knowing how much Jim despised O'Toole, Nancy knew it would cut him deep and it did. He'd stayed locked away in some seedy hotel for three solid days while he contemplated his worth as a man from the bottom of a bottle. It was a dark period in his life that easily would have buried him had it not been for the one person who believed in him. She had brought him back from the edge and kept him from crawling inside the bottle and dying. Without knowing all the truths, she'd given him a new purpose and for that he'd always love her.

He knew he couldn't fix his marriage but he could try to put his career right. It hadn't been a hard decision to bring down O'Toole's corrupt crew or turn his back on Newark for a new start in Vegas. Unfortunately, he'd nearly managed to fuck that up too but eventually he ended up back where he belonged, back in homicide doing what was familiar. He had reconciled himself to the fact that any aspirations for something more had been squashed with Holly Gribbs' death but his priorities had been put back into focus for him and much of the anger and resentment he had felt before was gone.

And then there was Ellie.

She was the one part of his life still undone, the splinter under his skin, elusive, complicated and inflammatory. She was the one part of his life he wanted so much to resolve and yet, the one part over which he had the least control. The more he reached out, the farther Ellie slipped away from his grasp, embedding herself deeper and deeper into his skin. Still, he wasn't about to give up. Not yet.

Dragging the telephone over, he dialed the number from memory. Jim Brass was a detective; he always prided himself on his ability to find anyone. Part of that came from being well connected, sometimes to the seedier side of the city. But if Ellie were still in Vegas, he knew just the person to track her down. It was time to call in a favor.

**Los Cabos Apartments, Las Vegas**

Sara woke up in a cold sweat, her right arm throbbing, her hands shaking, and made her way through the contrived darkness of her bedroom and into the filtered light of the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water onto her face, hoping to cleanse herself of the memories.

She knew it wasn't her fault but it still left her with the same sense of numbness that she'd felt the last time, when the lab had exploded. She'd become reckless then, taking risks that did nothing but provoke Brass's ire and Grissom's concern. Was taking risks her way of absolving herself of the guilt? Or on some deeper level was it a way to purge all the frustrations, all the anger and disappointment that she'd experienced over her life? She really couldn't say but the feeling was there again, rippling beneath the surface, uneasy and restless.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Sara Sidle was appalled at the image that stared back. She'd had the whole of her life flash before her eyes for a second time and still there was nothing to see. She needed to put the past behind her and move forward. If that meant giving up on a man emotionally unavailable, then she would. This was her wake up call.

A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts and sent her hesitantly to the front door. Seeing him standing there, all her renewed determination melted away.

"Can I come in?"

She opened the door wider and stood aside as Gil Grissom entered the apartment.

"How are you?"

"Okay."

Studying the emptiness in her eyes, he pressed again. "How are you really?"

"I'm okay really."

He was losing her and needed do something about it, something that crossed the boundaries of his comfort level. With Catherine's words still clear in his mind, he gave her the truth. "Sara, I'm here because I care about you."

"Yeah, I know. Afraid I'll go off half-cocked and do something crazy."

He stood directly in front of her and gently cupped her face in his hands, urging her to look at him. He didn't know if he could do this again so he had to get it right. "No, Sara. I care about you. I know how difficult this has been for you and I want you to let me help."

Sara nodded slowly, understanding that for once he wasn't speaking to her as a subordinate; for once he really did care about _her_. She wanted to cry, to fall into his comforting arms and unburden herself of the overwhelming guilt but all she could seem do at the moment was sit down.

Seeing her shoulders fall as the tough façade begin to crumble, he sat next to her and very quietly put his arm around her shoulders. Nothing more was said; nothing more had to be said.

She found her comfort, if only for the moment.

xx

To be continued in Chapter 7


	7. Chapter 7

**Motel 6, Las Vegas**

"Are you sure you don't want to wait a day or two?" Catherine asked, pulling into a parking space in front of the Motel 6 off Boulder Highway.

Noticing the thin layer of perspiration covering his skin and his pale complexion, it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him how she thought he still should have been in the hospital but after eight days he'd insisted on discharging himself—because of Ellie. She hadn't come back to the hospital and Catherine knew it had been eating away at him. If Ellie turned him away now, Catherine didn't want to think about what it would do to him.

"No, I have to talk to her before she takes off again."

"You going to be okay? Want me to come with you?"

He opened the Denali door and motioned up with his eyes. "I'll be fine as long as her room isn't up there."

That wasn't entirely what Catherine meant but she didn't elaborate. Instead, she followed his gaze to the third floor. "Yeah, there's no way you're walking up a flight of stairs, much less two, and I'm sure as hell not going to carry you."

"Aw, come on." He flashed her his best puppy dog eyes look.

"That doesn't work on me, Brass."

Chuckling, he started to get out of the truck then hesitated. "Cath, I gotta thank you for taxiing me around but if you got someplace else you need to be…"

"Go on." She rolled down the windows and reclined the seat. "I'll wait." She failed to mention that she was volunteering her time and effort to get him through the next week at least. He'd figure it out soon enough though.

Brass slid off the seat, thankful that it was considerably easier to get out of the vehicle than it had been to climb in, and with his freshly polished badge in hand—thanks to Catherine, slowly walked to the office. He knew where his daughter was staying but he hadn't been able to glean a room number from his source. Initially, the desk clerk had balked at Brass's request for information regarding one of the motel guests but when Jim flashed his badge and his best intimidating glare, the pimple-faced young man behind the counter became uncharacteristically helpful.

Room number 133: the gods had definitely been smiling on Brass today. It was going to be a while before just looking at stairs didn't wind him. Flashing the room number to Catherine with his fingers, he made his way around the gated pool with its decorative yucca plants and palms, carefully avoided two screaming preschoolers hell-bent on the heavily chlorinated water, then knocked forcefully on the metal door. He saw the curtain move slightly then heard someone fumble with the locks.

"Dad?" Ellie blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He was leaning against the metal railing for support, his left arm immobilized against his chest. Although it was nice to be up and around again, the short walk over had left him breathing heavily and perspiring. However, the worst was that he couldn't seem to stop his knees from shaking. He wasn't sure if that was from being on his feet for the first time in over a week or actually seeing Ellie again.

"I wanted to see you before you left."

"I mean, shouldn't you still be in the hospital or something?" He looked terrible and the sunlight only seemed to emphasize how pale he was.

"They discharged me this morning." Okay, so that was only partly true. He'd gotten the call with Ellie's whereabouts that morning and grew increasingly restless. Although she hadn't returned, the fact was, she _did_ come to the hospital and that had given him renewed hope. He couldn't let her go without seeing her, talking to her. He knew it might end badly, the way it always did, but he had to at least try.

"Probably glad to see you go."

He grinned sheepishly. "Yeah."

She backed away from the door. "Come in. I'm, uh, checking out in a little while so my stuff's all over the place."

He pushed off from the rail and followed her inside. Looking around the cluttered room, the unmade bed, it was obvious she wasn't alone. "Going home?"

"No, I'm heading to California with a friend." She cleared off the chair by the double bed and made a vague motion for him to sit down.

He eased into the chair, wincing at the inevitable pain in his back. After a breathless minute, he asked, "Do I know him?"

She rolled her eyes. "We gonna play this game again? His name is Todd."

As much as he wanted to voice his displeasure, he wasn't there to argue with her. He'd had his brush with mortality and now he needed to make amends. Next time, he might not get a second chance.

Without hesitating, he got to the point. "Is it too late for us, Ellie?"

She didn't answer but she didn't turn away—that was a start. He watched her face carefully, seeing her expression change from exasperation to hurt.

"I don't know."

"I want to make this right between us but you got to talk to me."

She sat on the edge of the bed, absently pulling at the frayed hem of her T-shirt, obviously struggling with her emotions. One part of her still wanted to hate him; another part was tired of the fight. But then she remembered all the times he was never there, all the arguments when he felt guilty and tried to take a sudden interest, questioning her whereabouts and her friends, being overprotective.

Looking up at him, her eyes full of heat and hurt, she asked, "Did you ever look at me, dad?"

"Sure I did. I looked at you all the time."

"No dad. I mean did you ever _look_ at me? Did you ever see _me_? All I wanted was your attention. When I was a little kid, I idolized you. You were my hero. When I got older, you were giving your attention to someone else's kid, some drug dealer on the street. I figured the only way I'd get your attention was to become one of them."

"Oh, Ellie, you always had my attention. You still do." If he could have moved, he would have been on the bed next to her, hugging her tightly—if she would have let him.

"Yeah, right." She rolled her eyes again. "Where was your attention when I was fourteen and sleeping my way through middle school? Where was your attention when I was scoring drugs and skipping class, spending my days high as a kite? You didn't even notice me, dad. All I ever wanted was for you to notice but you were never there."

He picked at a loose thread on the chair, unable to look at her until he could compose himself. The truth, especially when it pertained to his little girl, hurt more than anything he'd endured over the last week.

"Everything you said, it's all true. I wasn't around much. Your mom and me, we were having problems, you know? I couldn't fix it. Maybe it's a guy thing but I gotta have something I can fix. If I can't fix the problems at home, then I gotta fix the problems at work. And I was having a hard time fixing that too. I was suffocating under the pressure, overwhelmed with my own problems and somehow, I lost sight of you." His voice cracked yet his gaze never wavered from hers. "I wasn't there when you needed me the most. I screwed up, plain and simple. You know it and I know it. I can't change the past. All I can do is try to make things right now but I need you to meet me halfway. We both need to put the past behind us and move on. You got your whole life ahead a you. Don't throw it away on..."

"On what, dad? Don't throw it away on drugs? On guys who don't meet your superior standards? Ever think maybe I'm just trying to find someone like you, _daddy_? You were such a role model after all. Then I can lecture my kid on all the ways she's fucked up her life every time I get the chance." She was off the bed and standing by the door. "It was a mistake. I never should have gone to see you. It would have been easier if you'd just…" She stopped short, knowing she didn't mean what she was about to say but wanting to hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. And she could tell by the look on his face that she'd done an excellent job. 

Brass felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. Slowly lifting himself from the chair, he turned towards her. "If I'd just what, Ellie? If I'd just died?"

"I didn't say that." She wished she could take back her words. As much as she wanted to hurt him, that really had been a low blow.

He shook his head and smiled sadly. "You didn't have to." He started for the door only to have her step in his way.

"I'm sorry." She lowered her gaze to the floor, suddenly feeling ashamed. "I didn't mean it."

Brass reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, surprised when she didn't brush it away. "I know you didn't." She always had Nancy's temper; apparently she also had his ex-wife's penchant for cutting him to the quick. But Nancy had never apologized.

The sound of a key in the door interrupted whatever might have come next as Ellie quickly moved away.

"You need to go," she said as the door opened and a twenty-something man in a black T-shirt and faded jeans entered. His gaze shifted from Ellie to Brass then back to Ellie who merely shrugged.

"Who the hell is this guy?"

Brass might have looked pale and unsteady, his edge might have been dulled by pain and fatigue, but his perception was still sharp. And he didn't like what he saw. "You okay, Ellie?"

"I'm fine." She nodded towards Jim. "Todd, this is my dad."

The young man eyed Brass suspiciously. "Your dad, huh?"

"Yeah, Todd, I'm her dad." Brass managed a little defensive posturing and an intimidating glare. However, it did cross his mind that if this guy decided to get pushy, Brass would have a hard time defending himself. Luckily, the glare was enough.

The young man held his hands up as he backed away. "Okay, okay. It's all good."

Ellie leaned against the open door, her body language conveying impatience.

Brass left the room, not turning around as the door slammed shut, and leaned against the railing for support. This time the pain he felt had nothing to do with his injuries and everything to do with Ellie. He'd hoped that after the last time Ellie might have learned something but his instinct told him that Todd, like Keith Driscoll and all the others before him, was nothing but bad news.

Clenching his fist in frustration and anger, beating his hand against his thigh while his gut churned in turmoil, he pushed away from the railing and started back to the parking lot. As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew what the future held for his daughter if she stayed on this path. As long as she was out there, he'd always worry that the next call, the next dead girl would be his Ellie.

Experience told him it was only a matter of time.

xx

To be continued in Chapter 8


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N:** Thanks so much for all the reviews! It's such a rush to know that people are actually reading and taking the time to let me know. I really appreciate it!_

_I have to add a little disclaimer. My friend, Merc, was very kind to give the entire story a read and point out all my goofs but as I've been posting, I've been doing a lot of tweaking so any goofs you might find are all mine._

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**Motel 6 Parking Lot**

Catherine didn't have to ask how it went as Brass eased himself into the truck; she could see it all over his face.

"How about I buy you lunch?"

"Thanks but can I have a rain check?" He'd felt a twinge in his upper back when he got up from the chair back at Ellie's. Halfway around the pool and the pain kicked into high gear. He'd wanted to keep a clear head when he saw Ellie so he'd skipped the pain meds but right now all he wanted to do was pop a pill and lie down.

She started to make a crack about Jim Brass turning down a free meal but a single glance his way kept her quiet. He didn't have to say why; she could see the exhaustion and lines of pain on his face. "Sure. I'll take you home."

The drive to Jim's house took nearly an hour in traffic. By the time they arrived, his elbow was resting against the door, his hand was propping up his head, and his eyes were closed.

"Jim," Catherine said, giving his thigh a gentle nudge.

He jumped at the touch and for a moment, couldn't quite place his surroundings.

"You're home." Catherine shut off the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt, making it very clear she was going to see him inside.

He didn't feel much like arguing. Besides, Catherine had his key in the lock and the front door open before he'd even managed to get out of the truck. Earlier, when he'd seen Ellie, he felt pretty good but now, as the day progressed, he could feel a dull, aching fatigue settling deep within his bones.

He managed to get onto the front porch and out of the hot sun but from the way his head was swimming, he didn't think he could take another step without passing out. "I think I need help," he said, leaning heavily against the doorframe and praying the room would stop spinning.

Slipping her arm around his waist, she led him into the living room, out of the oppressive heat, and settled him into an overstuffed chair. "You overdid it."

Her voice sounded far away, like she was in another room instead of standing right next to him. "Yell at me later. I'm gonna be sick."

Catherine rushed into the kitchen and found a cold bottle of water in the refrigerator. Unscrewing the top, she shoved it into his hand. "Drink this."

He did, taking a few sips at first, then draining half the bottle. Closing his eyes, he sat quietly for a few minutes as the feeling passed.

Sitting on the ottoman in front of him, Catherine glanced around the room. She'd picked Jim up or dropped him off several times in the past but she'd never actually been inside his place.

It was a nice single story house tucked away on a quiet residential street in Henderson. The living room with its big screen TV, bookcases full of sports memorabilia, a few pictures and an impressive array of books, definitely needed a woman's touch but then, so did Brass in a lot of ways. Still, the place, including the kitchen, was appropriately masculine, very comfortable, and surprisingly neat, something she really didn't expect from a single guy like Brass.

Brass opened his eyes, surprised to find her still there.

"Better?"

"A little." He still felt weak and tired but at least the world was standing still.

"Come on," she said, helping him up and gently wrapping an arm around his waist. "Let's get you into bed."

If he hadn't felt so unsteady at that moment, he might have had a very good comeback for her but as it was, he had to let it go.

Slowly and carefully, she guided him down the hallway towards what she assumed to be his bedroom at the end.

"Got your pills?"

He reached into his pocket and handed over a brown plastic bottle and two blister packs.

Easing him onto the bed, Catherine said, "You need to eat something or you'll feel sick all night. Hang on." Heading out of the room, she disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a breakfast bar. "Here," she said, forcing him to take it. "Eat this."

He accepted the bar reluctantly but did his best to finish it. He had to admit, it did make him feel much better.

Once she was satisfied that he had food in his stomach, she handed over one of the pain pills and the rest of the bottled water. "Now take this."

Ordinarily, he would have protested her mothering but right now, he almost welcomed it. He doubted he could have made it this far without her help. Swallowing the tablet with a mouthful of water, he hoped it would take effect quickly. Right now all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and go to sleep.

"I'm okay now." He kicked off one shoe, then the other. "You can take off if you need to."

Catherine shook her head and crossed her arms. "Not until you're all tucked in."

He frowned at her but let it go. There was no way he'd win that argument and besides, he could think of worse things than being tucked into bed by Catherine Willows. It could have been Grissom standing in front of him.

"Well, if you're not going to leave then could you give me a minute to change?"

"Sure but if you're going to change, I think you'll need help getting out of this contraption." She unfastened the Velcro from the immobilizer strap and then gently helped him slip his arm from the sling. As careful as she was, she still caught his sharp intake of breath as his arm moved.

Still holding the sling, she stood by, watching him slowly unfasten the buttons on his shirt before coming to an obvious conclusion. "You realize you can't do this by yourself."

He knew she wasn't just talking about getting undressed and she was right. As much as he didn't want to admit it, there were any number of things he was going to have trouble with but he didn't want Catherine or anyone else taking time out of their schedule to play nursemaid to him. He'd hoped he would be able to handle it on his own. He was wrong. Still, stubbornness kept him from asking.

"I got good neighbors who'll look in on me if I need anything."

"Nice try but you and I both know it's a lie. Working nights doesn't make for good neighbors. I'm betting you don't even know their names."

Smirking, Jim said nothing. He hated it when she was right.

"Look, I know you won't ask for help but you're going to have to accept it. That bandage will need to be changed once a day for at least a week."

He was quiet for several long minutes. "I don't want to put you out but you know my situation. I got no choice but to say yes."

"You're not putting me out. We're friends, right?"

He nodded.

"Well, friends take care of friends."

"So does this mean you're gonna help me get undressed?" He had a slightly curious grin on his face. "Cause I don't think I can unfasten my pants."

Catherine looked skeptical. "You managed most of the buttons okay."

"Just unbuckle, unfasten and unzip. I can do the rest." He pointed at the dresser across from the bed. "Check the left bottom drawer down."

Setting the sling on top of the dresser, she pulled a pair of dark cotton pants with an elastic waist and a button-free fly from the drawer then helped him up. Standing directly in front of him, she reached for his belt then hesitated. "You're not going commando or anything, are you?"

Brass smirked. "No, but if it makes you feel better, you can close your eyes."

Scowling at him, she tried to approach the task with aplomb as she leaned down to help him out of the trousers but the motion caused Jim to take a balancing step forward and her hand to come up instinctively for support. Unfortunately, that support put her hand against part of the very obvious bulge in his boxer briefs.

He let out a startled grunt while she pulled away quickly.

"Sorry," she said, embarrassed and trying unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle.

He smiled at the obvious flush coloring her cheeks. "Cath, ordinarily, I'd be breathing heavy at the thought of being felt up by you but right now Mister Happy ain't feeling so happy."

She stared at him for a long moment then burst out laughing. "Mister Happy?"

"Hey, we all need a nickname," he shrugged.

"Remind me to send Grissom over next time," she said as she pulled the cotton pants over his hips and tried desperately to keep her gaze focused away from his waist.

"You did say you wanted to help. Besides," he said, easing himself onto the bed, "I doubt he'd have your special touch."

Catherine rolled her eyes and sat on the bed next to him. She started to say something about his shirt when she noticed him tense. "Jim?"

For several breathless moments he sat there, holding his left arm against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain while Catherine recalled what Doctor Kapoor had said about the risk of blood clots. Thinking that could be exactly what was happening, she quickly reached for her cell phone and flipped it open.

Brass put his hand on hers, stopping her from dialing. "It's okay," he managed to say as he slowly relaxed. Seeing her worried expression, he tried to smile. "Guess I'm not Superman after all."

"What was that?" She let out the breath she'd been holding and slipped her phone back into its cradle.

"Not sure. Happened a couple of times in the hospital. Every now and then I get this pain that feels like someone's sticking a knife in my back."

"Maybe the nerve endings are starting to fire up." If that were the case, she doubted the pain meds would help. "Come on, let's get you situated. Do you have a T-shirt or something you want to put on?" It occurred to her after she asked that he wouldn't be able to move his left arm much less lift it.

He shook his head, feeling a slight rush. "Nah, I'll be okay."

Gently easing him out of the shirt, trying not to stare at the long, angry scar that stood out in the brown hair covering his chest, or the older, faded scar that graced his left shoulder, Catherine tried to keep her expression even, although it was becoming extremely difficult. Already she'd seen more of Jim Brass than she ever imagined but now, for reasons she couldn't quite explain, the sight of this slightly battered, very masculine man made her pupils dilate, her heart beat a little faster and the room grow a few degrees warmer.

"What?" he asked, noticing the blush that pinked her cheeks once again.

"Nothing."

He gave her a look she had seen too many times in the interrogation room: he wasn't buying her answer. "What?" he asked again.

She'd noticed his broad, muscular chest and strong shoulders before. Hell, she'd even found herself staring at his backside on more than one occasion but never like this. What was she supposed to say? _Gee, Brass, the sight of you standing there in just your Jockey's makes my toes tingle? _Hardly. Unfortunately, it was the truth.

He cocked an eyebrow curiously, waiting for an answer.

Flustered, she said the first thought that came to mind. "You surprise me, that's all. You keep yourself in pretty good shape."

"For an old guy?" Even though he smiled when he said it, he was only half joking.

It was no secret that since her divorce, Catherine had an eye for a certain type of man and Jim Brass wasn't that type. For one thing he was ten years older; for another she'd made it quite clear early on that she wasn't interested. His ego knew when to stop but that didn't mean he still wasn't attracted to her. He had been from the very first moment he'd met Catherine Willows. She was married then and he was still carrying open wounds from a nasty divorce so somehow that made it easier but there was no denying that he felt something for her. Unfortunately, he knew she'd never consider him as anything more than a friend.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." There was no animosity in his voice. He was merely stating a fact.

Reaching out, Catherine lightly brushed her fingers through his hair, surprised at how soft it was. When he didn't protest, she trailed her fingers down the side of his face, feeling the prickly stubble on his cheek as she lingered on his jaw, then gently ran her thumb over his lips.

He sat deathly quiet, afraid to even breath as she leaned forward and kissed him softly. It was a simple kiss that did nothing more than convey a sweet sincerity. But it was still a kiss.

Brass pulled away slowly, feeling a little flushed and lightheaded. One was a result of the medication but the other definitely wasn't. "I'm not protesting by any means but what was that for?"

"Because I wanted to." Honestly, she really didn't know why she did it. It simply happened. No conscious thought, no rational decision, just something in the quiet, self-deprecating way he looked at her, something in the way she felt at that moment made the contact necessary.

"Don't expect any argument from me." Argue no, confused definitely. Brass wasn't quite sure how to interpret what just happened. Maybe it hadn't really happened at all; maybe it was just part of some very pleasant dream he was having or maybe it was merely a hallucination. After all, he'd been told that was one of the side-effects of the pain medicine.

Exhaling slowly, Catherine glanced around the room. "You're going to need more than this to prop yourself up." Finding nothing, she had an idea. "Hang on a minute." She disappeared down the halfway, returning minutes later with one of the overstuffed back cushions from the sofa. "Try this."

He tried to swing his legs around, suddenly feeling as if his limbs were full of lead weights. "Can't," he said simply, his verbal skills suddenly on par with a two-year old as his thoughts became jumbled into one incoherent stream.

"Somebody's going down hard," Catherine said out loud but to no one in particular. Easing him onto the bed, she gently propped the pillows behind him until he nodded his approval then touched his forehead. His skin felt warm but after the kiss, she still felt a bit warm as well. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

Something that sounded remarkably like a hum escaped his lips.

Although Jim wasn't quite asleep yet, his fixed stare at some unseen object left her fairly certain that was the most she would get out of him. She'd go home, get a few hours sleep and then stop by that evening on her way into work. Something told her he'd be out most of that time but just in case, she left two bottles of water, a handful of breakfast bars and all his meds on the nightstand within reach. She felt a tinge of regret leaving him alone like this but she really needed to get home: to Lindsey, to her mother, to her bed.

Turning off the light, she stood silently in the doorway for a few minutes, watching as his eyes slowly closed, then left the house.

Sitting in her SUV, leaning back in the seat, she couldn't seem to stop her thoughts from lingering on Jim Brass and the fact that she'd kissed him. _She_ did it. He hadn't encouraged her. It was simply a moment of weakness on her part brought on by his unexpected display of vulnerability. She tried to tell herself that she only wanted to give him a little reassurance, a little confidence in himself, but truth be told, she really just wanted to kiss him.

What was she thinking?

Firing up the ignition, she smacked her hand on the steering wheel, angry with herself for being so impulsive, angry with him for getting to her like that.

xx

To be continued in Chapter 9


	9. Chapter 9

**Las Vegas Crime Lab**

Walking purposefully through the Crime lab, Gil Grissom stopped at the door to the break room, relieved to find the person he'd been searching for. "PD just called. We got a bad one. Nick and Warrick are meeting us there."

Catherine looked at her watch and then at Grissom. With an exaggerated sigh, she said, "Two more hours and this would be day shift's case."

"Crime waits for no one," Grissom said with an unapologetic shrug.

**Jim Brass's House, Henderson**

Gasping for breath, his heart pounding, Brass blindly thrashed at the darkness, trying to fend off an unseen menace until the pain in his shoulder jerked him back to reality.

With the accusing voices still echoing in his head, the graphic visions still fresh in his mind, he told himself it was a nightmare, nothing more. There were no flames engulfing the room, no carpet of human corpses staring up at him with their clouded, gray eyes, nothing pinning him to the ground and stealing away his breath. Nancy, Mike O'Toole and Nathan Witten, the unlucky passenger in a stolen car, were gone now leaving him alone in a dark, empty and deathly quiet room.

Closing his eyes, he tried to steady his breathing, tried to push away the pain and the last remnants of the dream. He'd long since kicked off the covers and even now, sitting on the edge of the mattress, he could feel the sweat beading on his temples, dripping down the middle of his back. Dragging a hand across his stubbled chin, he cursed. The last thing he needed was the air conditioner on the fritz.

Pulling himself painfully from the bed, pausing as a wave of vertigo threatened to sit him back down again, he waited for the dizziness and nausea to pass then slowly shuffled down the long hallway, his right hand on the wall for support. With each step he became more aware of the blood pulsing in his ears, of the persistent shaking in his hands and legs, of the aching throb in his back and shoulder, but mostly, he became aware of his inability to focus. Blinking several times, he tried to clear away the blurriness but the more he did that, the worse his vision got.

He managed to make it to the living room without hitting anything but now his head was swimming. He knew he needed to sit before he fell because falling down was going to make the hurt so much worse.

Reaching the sofa, he sat down hard, ignoring the pain in his back, then leaned his head against the cushions and closed his eyes. He just needed a minute to rest then he'd check the A/C and everything would be all right.

**Crime Scene, West Las Vegas**

Catherine glanced at her watch for the third time in less than thirty minutes. Already she was in her second hour of overtime and glancing around the blood-splattered room, her chances of finishing up soon weren't looking good.

It was nearing 10am and she really needed to check on Brass. When she'd gone by his house before her shift the previous night, he had stirred just long enough to mumble something incoherent and to take his meds but she'd immediately felt the heat off his body and that's what worried her now. She'd tried to check the bandage on his back but with Jim so out of it, she hadn't been able to get a good look at the wound. Twelve hours was a long time. What if he'd developed another infection?

She thought about calling Sara, the only member of the nightshift not working this particular case, and asking her to check on Jim but Catherine had the key to his house. Even if Sara did agree, the logistics were off. It would take Sara an hour or more to get to the scene to pick up the key and by that time, Catherine hoped to be done.

"Catherine," Grissom came up behind her. "Aren't you supposed to be checking on Jim?"

She stared at him incredulously. "Yeah, but there's this little thing called a crime scene."

"We can finish up here. Hand whatever you have left off to Warrick and go."

"Um, sure." Still not quite believing what Grissom was saying, she figured she'd get the hell out of there before he changed his mind.

**Jim Brass's House, Henderson**

The fog in his head lifted long enough to make Brass realize someone was knocking at his front door. He knew he needed to answer it but he couldn't seem to make his arms and legs work. It reminded him of another time, another vague, clouded memory when he couldn't move and for a moment, he felt a suffocating rush of anxiety. The pain in his back shot down his spine, causing his whole body to arch. He'd taken all the pills; why wasn't the pain subsiding?

God, it was so damn hot! Nancy should have turned the A/C on by now. He wanted to turn it on in late May, when the humidity started to kick in, but she always wanted to wait until June. Save a few bucks here and there but he didn't see the point if they were miserable. 

Ellie would be home from school soon. He couldn't let her see him like this. She always got upset when he wasn't feeling very well—like that time he had the flu and she cried for two days because she thought he was going to die. Maybe that's what this was: a bad bout of the flu. He'd just close his eyes and rest.

The knocking persisted only now it was more like pounding. Or maybe it was just inside his head. Yeah, that was it. Someone was pounding inside his head, trying to get out. If they'd just ask, he'd let them out but he'd need a knife: a sharp knife to cut out a hole for the pounding.

He pushed himself off the sofa and stood unsteadily for a full minute before taking two wobbly steps forward. The room took a sudden tilt to the left and seconds later, the lights went out.

**oooooo**

Sara stood on Jim's porch, waiting. She had been knocking on his front door for a good five minutes but to no avail. She knew she should have called first but she had made a last minute decision to stop by and didn't have his number handy.

Painkillers could have knocked Brass out but when Sara heard the loud crash on the other side of the locked door, her concern grew.

"Brass!" she shouted, pounding her fist on the door. Looking around the neatly attended shrubs, she found nothing that might hide a key. Then again, she didn't really expect to find anything. He was a cop after all.

Walking around to the back of the house, she tried the sliding glass door, not surprised to find it locked and the blinds drawn tightly. Pulling out her cell phone, she started to dial when the rumble of a truck engine in the driveway caught her attention. Curious, she walked back around to the front, relieved to see the familiar Denali.

"Sara, what are you doing here?" Catherine was already out of the vehicle and shutting the door.

"I came by to see Jim but he's not answering. I heard a crash inside a couple of minutes ago…"

Catherine heard nothing after the word _crash_. Pulling out her key and slipping it into the lock, she didn't bother to knock as she let herself inside.

Sara followed Catherine into the house, her heart pounding in her chest, her cell phone still open in her hand.

"Jim?" Catherine called out as she cautiously walked through the kitchen and into the living room. Her eyes went quickly to the shattered glass cabinet door and Brass lying face down on the floor, blood covering the side of his head.

Hurrying into the room, she shouted at Sara over her shoulder, "call an ambulance!" then dropped to her knees by his side and quickly pressed her fingers against his neck, relieved to find a slow but steady pulse. "He's alive."

Sara stood frozen in place, not hearing anything Catherine said, only seeing the blood. All that blood, just like it had been before: Brass not moving, slowly bleeding to death. She felt so helpless and responsible then just as she did now. But there was one thing she could do. Dialing 9-1-1, she put in the call for an ambulance then without a word, she turned away from Jim, from Catherine, from the memories, and left the house, calmly walking down the driveway to her own car parked by the curb.

Catherine heard the call and turned in time to see Sara disappear through the front door. She gave a brief thought to going after the younger woman but just then Jim let out a long, sustained groan.

"Jesus, Jim, you scared the shit out of me," Catherine said, grateful she had gotten to his house when she did. She'd feel guilty later, when she knew he was okay.

He made a weak attempt to move but it didn't take much effort from Catherine to get him to stay put. Gently turning his head to get a better look at the swollen cut on the side of his head, she was relieved to find that it looked much more superficial than she had originally thought. Head wounds always did bleed a lot and this one was a gusher. The real cause for concern was his left shoulder. It had been nine days since the explosion, not nearly enough time for wounds to heal or broken bones to mend. It was easy to imagine the damage that falling could do. Recreating the scene in her mind, she guessed he came into the living room, tripped or lost his balance, and hit the tempered glass door to the TV cabinet with his head as he fell.

Looking around for something to staunch the bleeding, she started to get up only to feel his hand nudge her leg.

"Don't leave."

"Your head's bleeding so I'm just going to get a towel. I'll be right back, okay?"

He nodded.

Catherine returned quickly with a clean, damp towel and gently pressed it against the side of his head.

"Ellie's not home yet, is she? Can you turn the A/C on? It's hot in here."

Alarmed by his questions, Catherine put her hand to his forehead. "You're burning up."

"Huh?"

"Jim, do you know where you are?"

He mumbled something that sounded like Newark and closed his eyes.

She could hear the sound of the siren growing closer. Thankfully, Sara had left the front door standing wide open. "The ambulance is on the way," she said, just in case he could understand her.

"Ambulance? I didn't mean to shoot him." Brass began to ramble, his voice shaking with emotion or pain, she couldn't be sure. "He was in the car. I didn't mean to shoot him."

Putting her hand on his back, feeling the damp heat radiating off his skin, she said, "I know." She remembered hearing about the incident he had to be referring to, when he'd shot a passenger in a felony pursuit. Brass never talked about it but something like that had been fodder for station gossip for quite some time. Apparently, it was a burden he'd kept buried—until now.

Running her hand over the back of his head, feeling the dampness in his hair, on his neck, she tried to keep him calm, relieved to hear the roar of the truck as it pulled into the driveway.

"I'm not a failure. I'm not. I just did the best I could," he said, his gaze fixed on Catherine's but not really seeing her, his voice cracking. "I know she's not mine but I did the best I could."

Jim was out of his head; he didn't know what he was saying and Catherine was quite certain he was confusing her with his ex-wife, Nancy. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty, not only about what she had heard but the questions that ran through her mind.

_She's not mine._

Did he mean Ellie? Was it possible she wasn't really his daughter? He'd alluded to the fact that his wife had cheated on him more than once. Could Ellie be the product of one of those affairs? Or was Ellie's paternity merely something that Brass suspected?

Whatever the answer, it wasn't her concern. Catherine had simply heard the delirious ramblings of a fevered man. He didn't know what he was saying and Catherine certainly wasn't going to question him about it later. But it did make her wonder.

Outside she could hear the paramedics unloading their equipment. "Over here!" she called as they appeared in the doorway.

xx

To be continued in chapter 10


	10. Chapter 10

**Desert Palm Hospital**

Tired of staring up at the all to familiar plain white ceiling tiles, Jim Brass closed his eyes and tried to recall how he ended up at Desert Palm yet again.

He'd been back in the hospital for more than 48 hours hooked up to an IV and getting pumped full of antibiotics. He hadn't quite understood everything they told him; he'd only regained some semblance of clarity within the last eight hours or so, but he understood enough to know that his fever broke a few hours ago and if his all his tests came back negative, there was a good chance they'd let him go home soon.

He still hadn't seen the doctor so he wasn't sure if he should be worried about the lack of news or just continue to be bored.

"You ready to go home?"

He looked over to see Catherine entering the room and then it hit him. _Catherine._ She had been the one at his house; the one who had kept him from fading into oblivion, the one who'd been with him in the ambulance, holding onto his hand and assuring him he was going to be all right.

Jim swallowed, finding his voice. "You busting me out of this joint?"

"I am as soon as they release you." She tossed his clothes onto the bed. "I stopped by your house and grabbed these. Figured you might want something more than what you were wearing when you came in." Leaning her hip against the bed, she looked at him seriously. "What happened?"

"I remember feeling dizzy and then boom, the lights went out." His right hand went to his head, gingerly fingering the tender lump and coarse stitches. "I guess my head broke my fall. What did I hit?"

"One of the glass doors to entertainment center. It only required a couple of stitches but you'd have thought you split your head wide open judging by all the blood. What were you doing in the living room?"

"I don't remember. It was hot and that pain medicine was messing with my head. I kept thinking I was back in Jersey."

"You also thought bugs were crawling all over you." It had happened in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Brass had been calm one minute and then convinced he was covered in bugs the next. Despite the efforts of the two EMTs, it was Catherine's soothing voice and gentle caress that finally settled him down.

"Yeah, well, I was hoping that was a nightmare. Guess it wasn't." The fact that Catherine had witnessed his little hallucination only added to his embarrassment. Trying to cover up his uneasiness, he said with a forced laugh, "I guess it's probably a good thing I passed out in the living room and not in the bathroom, huh?"

"Yeah," she joked, trying to alleviate some of his discomfort. "I've already seen more of you than I ever needed to see." Catherine decided against telling him what he'd mentioned when he'd been out of his head. She knew he hadn't intended for her to hear it and it would only upset him more if he found out.

"And here I thought you liked my…"

She held up her hand quickly to stop him before the conversation went any further. She was supposed to be alleviating his embarrassment, not adding to her own. Clearing her throat, she deftly changed the subject. "I spoke to the doctor. He said you had a bad reaction to the pain medication." She took a seat in the chair next to the bed. "Well, that and you were dehydrated and had an infection that out-muscled the antibiotics."

"You know a hell of a lot more than I do. They haven't told me much."

She dropped her gaze to her hands. "I know I owe you an apology."

"What for?"

"I should have been there earlier. We got a call and…"

He interrupted before she could finish. "It's okay. You got nothing to apologize for."

"No, I do. I promised I'd be by to check on you and after one friggin' day, I dropped the ball."

He waved her off, this time staring at her intently. "Cath, you have been great this past week and a half. You've been," he paused and shook his head, obviously at a loss for words. "I couldn't have gotten by without you. Hell, I'd still be kissing the carpet if it weren't for you. But you got work and Lindsey to worry about without having to play nursemaid to me."

Shaking her head, she said, "And look where my attempt to help got you: right back in the hospital." Even as Catherine spoke she had to wonder why it upset her so much, why she'd been so damn worried or why her heart had skipped several beats when she saw him lying on the floor. "Jim, look, in case you haven't noticed, I've worried a great deal about you lately. And for the record, it was my choice, not yours."

"Yeah," he was saying, looking out the window, "and why is that? It's not like I'm usually at the forefront of your mind."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Lindsey, Grissom, Warrick, Nick, Sam Braun, that city engineer guy you were seeing for a while."

Catherine cocked an eyebrow, surprised that Brass knew about Paul Newsome.

"You want me to go on cause I think there's a lot more people I'd put before me. I've never been too high on your radar, so why would I expect to be now?"

Catherine didn't answer; she couldn't. Brass had every right to be confused and yes, angry. Until the explosion she never really worried about him, never gave him much thought outside of work for that matter. Sure they'd had lunch together, met a few times after shift for drinks and dinner and made light conversation about their personal lives, but for the most part she'd never really regarded Brass as anything other than a good friend.

_So why now?_

She tried not to think of Jim _that way_, as anything more than a friend and occasional protector. But she did feel something. God, she didn't even want to think about it but she had to face the reality: she cared about Jim Brass and ever since that day at his house, ever since that kiss, he'd been occupying her thoughts in a very disturbing way. What unnerved her the most though was that it wasn't entirely a bad thing.

Shaking off the feeling, she put it down to his present state. Jim needed her. Sure people needed her on a daily basis but this kind of need was different. This kind of need played upon her emotions and exposed a side of Brass she never seen before. This kind of need made her feel useful and necessary and caring in a way that being a mother didn't. She hadn't had a man to look after in such a long time, she hadn't realized until now how much she'd missed it.

Much to Catherine's relief, her thoughts were interrupted as the door opened and the familiar face of Doctor Kapoor entered with X-Rays in hand.

"I had hoped I wouldn't see you back, Mr. Brass," he said as he held the films up to the light from the window.

Still feeling a little surly, Jim frowned. "Yeah, well, I really didn't want to see you either."

"All things considered, everything looks good. The bones have knitted together well enough that the fall didn't cause any additional fractures. You had a pleural effusion—a build-up of fluid between the layers of the membrane that lines the lungs and chest cavity. We performed a thoracentesis—a procedure to remove the fluid—and found the source of the infection. Luckily, we caught it early so you might look at what happened as a blessing in disguise because it certainly saved you from a much longer hospital stay." Setting the films down, he picked up Jim's chart, his eyes scanning the data. "You've responded well to the antibiotics and your blood pressure is still a little low but since it's up from where it was, I expect that's due to the medication."

Jim didn't care about any of that. For him there was only one question that mattered. "So I can go home?"

"You can go home. And please," he said, his hand resting on the door handle and a hint of a smile on his lips, "don't come back again."

"Not planning on it." Jim responded, motioning with his hand in a not so subtle hint that Catherine should follow the doctor out the door.

"You sure you don't want my help?" Her tone was playful, hopeful that he'd gotten past his exasperation with her.

His glaring frown spoke volumes. Apparently, he hadn't.

"How about I send someone in to help you?"

As much as his pride wanted him to say no, he wasn't stupid. "I guess you better."

Catherine started for the door then stopped. "Jim, I wish I could tell you why, but I don't know myself."

Studying her honest expression, seeing the same confusion that he felt, he believed her. Offering up an apologetic smile, he said sheepishly, "Go on, get me some help." Then as an afterthought, "And not that big guy. He's got cold hands."

**1422 Holland Lane**

Leaning against the passenger door of the Denali, Brass squinted into the sunshine, wishing he had his sunglasses. The entire structure was gone, reduced to rubble and looking like something he'd expect to see in Kosovo or Baghdad, not Las Vegas. Much of the debris had been cleared from the streets and neighboring yards but houses on either side had suffered some sort of collateral damage as well and now had bright red "condemned" signs plastered on each front door.

Getting out of his car, the rent a cop at the scene ambled towards them, his hands out in a warning gesture. "Nothing to see here folks. You need to move along."

Catherine started to flash her ID but the man pointed a finger at Brass. "Hey, I know you. You're that cop that almost got blown up."

It never occurred to Jim until now that his name and his picture might have been all over the papers. "Yeah, that's me," he answered uneasily.

"You doing okay?"

Brass studied the ground then looked up and nodded. "I'm doing fine—thanks."

"Well, look around all you want but be careful." The man nodded then walked back to his car.

Jim slowly crossed the street, aware that Catherine was beside him, and stopped at the curb. "I have this hole in my memory," he said in a quiet voice. "Tell me what happened."

He had asked to come back to the scene and Catherine had hesitated at first. But he needed closure and until he saw the place, until he knew what happened, until his mind could piece together what was missing, he feared the nightmares would always be with him. This was no guarantee they would end but at least he would know.

Standing next to him, Catherine fixed her sunglasses in place. "How much do you remember?"

"I remember going into the house and running up the stairs to find Sara. I know she was in front of me and we made it to the front door. After that, it's nothing but a blank."

Catherine took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. Brass was trying to remember; she was trying to forget.

"Nick and I were over there." She pointed across the street and down a little way. "We saw Sara come out first with you right behind her. And then the place exploded. I covered my head and when I looked up, you and Sara were gone. You both were buried under quite a bit of debris and when they found you…"

Jim caught the crack in her voice and turned to look at her. Her eyes were hidden behind the dark glasses but he could see it in the tight, thin line of her lips. Taking her hand in his, he gave it a gentle squeeze. "It's okay. I think I know the rest."

But she had to say it; she had to say what they both knew if only to get it out in the open once and for all. "You almost died over there."

Brass looked down, suddenly finding the tip of his right shoe very interesting. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a great idea after all. He really wasn't any closer to gaining closure but a couple of things had become a little clearer—like how the explosion had affected those not physically hurt and why Catherine felt compelled to help him.

He was all too familiar with survivor's guilt. In his line of work he'd seen it more times than he could remember. From what he knew, Sara's guilt lay on the surface, apparent for all to see, but Catherine's had manifested itself much deeper, less obvious. He hadn't truly understood until now.

They stood in silence for a long time, neither letting go of the other, before Jim finally said, "Let's get outta here."

xx

To be continued in Chapter 11


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: **Again, a huge THANK YOU to all who've stuck with the story and left some very inspiring reviews. There's only one more chapter and an epilogue to go, which is either good news or bad news, depending on your point of view. And to _heartcat: _I'm so happy that I could give you some reading enjoyment because you've certainly given some to me! 

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Jim Brass's House, Henderson**

Turning down Jim's street, they both saw the familiar car sitting by the curb.

"Looks like you have company." Catherine said as she passed the Toyota Prius and pulled into the driveway.

"Hey, Cath," Jim started, seeing Sara sitting on his front step.

"I'll take off," she replied, reading his thoughts. Catherine wasn't surprised to see the young woman. She'd called Sara the previous day to make sure she was all right and to let her know about Jim. Sara had apologized for her reaction and Catherine understood.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes holding her gaze longer than was necessary. He wanted to say more but he'd save that for another time and place. Hesitantly, he added, "See you later?"

With a hint of mischief in her eyes she replied, "I'll stop by this evening before my shift starts—that is, if you're okay with me worrying about you. You know, just to make sure you're not face down on the floor again."

"Yeah." He looked away, feeling embarrassed about his earlier remark and knowing he deserved her rather pointed jab. "That might be a good idea."

Noticing how tired he looked in the filtered sunlight, she reached over and touched his arm. "Seriously, Jim, don't over do it, okay? I really don't want any repeats of the other day."

Shaking his head, "Neither do I." Opening the door, he slid off the seat then turned to close the door and slowly walked to the front door, pausing in front of Sara. Holding out his right hand, he asked, "You doing okay? How's the shoulder?"

Sliding her hand into his, she stood up. "It's fine."

"Wanna come inside and talk?"

"Sure."

Catherine watched until they were both inside then put the truck in reverse and backed down the drive.

**oooooo**

They were sitting in the living room, Jim on the sofa, Sara in the chair across from him. Looking around the room, Brass was surprised to find no trace of his previous run-in with the glass door—apart from the missing glass door and a faintly darker spot on the carpet. Apparently, Catherine had seen to the clean up—yet another thing he'd be thanking her for later.

There was an awkward silence between them and although it made him slightly uneasy, Brass refrained from making small talk. He could tell by the fixed look on her face that she was struggling to find the words but he wouldn't rush her. Experience taught him patience; she'd speak when she was ready.

Sara had rehearsed the words she wanted to say over and over on the drive to Jim's house. But sitting across from him, seeing the pain, the understanding but mostly the concern in his eyes, she felt lost again. Maybe the best way was to go with her gut; go with the simplistic.

"I'm so sorry. It was all my fault. If I hadn't argued with you, we could have been clear of the house and none of this would have happened."

It was on the tip of his tongue to interrupt her, stop her apology in mid-stream, but he'd heard enough confessions to know that this was necessary for her healing. She needed to apologize because she felt it was her fault and no amount of denial on his part was going to change her mind. Hopefully, this would be the catharsis she needed.

"I know you feel that way. I also know you'll carry this guilt with you for the next thirty years." He watched her face for a reaction, smiling when he saw the faint nod. "But you can't blame yourself. You didn't put the explosives in the house; you didn't know what was happening—just some lunatic detective trying to drag your butt away from your crime scene. If our roles were reversed, I'd probably react like you did."

She sat in silence and stared at something infinitely more interesting on the carpet.

Cocking his head to one side, he asked, "There's something else, isn't there?" One thing he'd learned over the years was how to read people; Sara had rarely presented much of a challenge for him. He might not know what she was thinking but he could always tell when she was troubled.

It took her a few more minutes before she spoke. When she did, she looked up and met his gaze, her voice strong and steady. "I thought you were dead. Those last few minutes before they pulled us free, I prayed to a god that I'm probably not on the best terms with..."

Jim absorbed what she said, took in the full meaning—that Sara had prayed for his life—and felt a warmth in his soul that he had been missing for quite some time.

"And then when they got us free, I saw it all. I saw all the blood and the men working on you and I wondered how you could possibly be alive and why it wasn't me over there. It should have been me."

"No, Sara, don't think like that because then it'd be me sitting where you are going through that same feeling of guilt and remorse only it'd be worse because I would feel like I failed you."

"Like you failed _me_? How?"

"Part of my job is to keep you—and Nick and Catherine and the rest of the CSI's—safe at a crime scene. I was doing my job. If anything had happened to you, well," he looked down, shaking his head, " I couldn't live with myself."

Sara saw his pained expression and knew now that he was referring to Holly Gribbs. She knew Holly's murder weighed heavily on the minds of all who were involved but especially with Jim. He'd suffered the brunt of the punishment, having been demoted from CSI Supervisor to homicide, and apparently, the brunt of the guilt as well.

Licking his bottom lip, he said, "I don't remember much about what happened. Maybe that makes me the lucky one, you know? I can only guess how hard it must be for you. I know it's been a little hard for me just knowing how close I came to packing it in." He tried to cover his own unsettled emotions with a nervous smile.

Sara looked away again. "I try to get the images out of my head but at night, when I close my eyes, I see everything all over again."

Brass understood. "If your nightmares are anything like mine, I figure we'll both be spending quality time with a shrink for a while." At a loss for what else to say, he could only add something that had been on his mind since seeing Ellie at the hotel. "You know, we both got a second chance. Maybe we should take a look at some of those things in our lives we need to put right."

Sara nodded. She had done a lot of thinking, a lot of looking at her life, at the mistakes she'd made, at the path she was taking. Too many things were becoming obvious, too many problems unresolved. But every time she tried to move forward, something or rather someone, always held her back.

_Grissom_

He was her splinter, her little sliver of wood that got under her skin and drove her crazy. And no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't get that splinter out. Maybe she didn't want to. Just as Catherine seemed to be spending a whole lot of time with Brass, Grissom had been much more attentive to her since the incident. While she had enjoyed the attention, she knew it wouldn't last. It never did. He'd wait until she back to normal, back to dependable Sara Sidle once again and then retreat into himself like he always did.

"Look, I think we're all having trouble dealing with this—just in different ways." He thought of Catherine and wondered if Nick was going through the same feeling of guilt. "Some of them are just more obvious than others."

Once again her thoughts drifted to Grissom. "Yeah, that's true." Catching Brass's eye, she smiled. He knew; he always had.

Brass was the quiet observer; the one other's often dismissed. But behind that bland expression, he was always watching, always listening. No, Jim Brass never missed much.

And right now Sara was using her powers of observation on him. Although he looked much better than the last time she'd seen him, she could still see the lines of pain and fatigue edging his eyes, his mouth She knew he wouldn't complain nor would he ask her to leave. He'd leave that decision to her.

"I should probably go. Let you get some rest."

As much as Jim enjoyed Sara's company, he didn't protest. The day's activities had already taken their toll on him, wearing him down and making him realize just how little energy he had. Not to mention he hadn't taken any pain meds since he left the hospital and his back was starting to hurt.

"Do you need help with anything? Can I get you water or something?" Sara was already on her feet and moving towards the kitchen.

"Water would be good, thanks." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the blister pack and popped out two pain pills. These were different than the others; hopefully, they wouldn't mess with his head.

Sara returned a minute later open bottle in hand then watched as he swallowed the medicine and washed it down. "Are you going to be okay? I can stay…if you need me to."

"Nah, I'm fine. Just need a little help getting up." Once he was on his feet he didn't let go of her hand. "We're both gonna be okay. It just takes a little time, you know?" He drew her into an awkward hug.

Sara gently hugged him back. "Yeah, I know. By the way, I never said thanks for dragging my butt out of there."

"Any time, Sara. You know I always got your back."

"Yeah, Jim, I know. Just remember, sometimes you need someone to watch yours."

He looked at her curiously, hiding his confusion with a smile. Did she mean Catherine or was it something else? Whatever Sara meant, she didn't elaborate and he didn't ask.

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze then let herself out the front door with a wave good-bye.

Jim watched the door close then ambled down the hallway to his bedroom, still wondering what Sara meant. Standing in the doorway, looking at the neatly turned down bed covers and the pile of pillows, it took him a few minutes to realize this wasn't the way he'd left things. Catherine had struck once again. Shaking his head, he couldn't help but smile even through the nagging fatigue. She really was looking out for him. Why couldn't he just accept it? In the dark corners of his mind, he knew why.

He could give himself a plethora of excuses but the truth of it was, Jim Brass was scared. Nancy had left invisible scars twice as long as the ones he now had. She cut him so deep, he was afraid of exposing himself to that kind of hurt ever again. He knew Catherine wasn't anything like Nancy but the thought of getting burned that badly again kept him guarded nonetheless.

Sitting on the bed, too tired to even attempt to change clothes, he kicked off his shoes and swung his legs onto the bed then eased his back onto the pillows. It wasn't the most comfortable way to sleep but he'd gotten used to it and for now it was the only option he had. Besides, he was too tired to really care.

Closing his eyes, he tried to think back on his conversation with Sara, on whether she was really okay, but soon enough his thoughts ran into one jumbled mess as he drifted off to sleep.

xx

To be continued in Chapter 12


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Very sorry for the delay in posting. This particular chapter just wasn't coming together the way I wanted it to so I had to do some serious tweaking. Hopefully, it came out okay. 

**xxxxxxxxxx**

**Jim Brass's House, Henderson**

Rummaging through her bag, Ellie found the key he'd given her a few years ago. She'd never used it and half expected it not to work, surprised when it did. The house was dark, warm and except for the hum of the refrigerator, deathly quiet.

It had been almost a week since her dad showed up at her motel room, almost a week since she lied to him and told him she was heading to L.A. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to see him once again. Nothing had really changed between them: he still saw her as a little girl; she couldn't forgive him for never being there. Nevertheless, here she was, standing in the middle of his living room. It should have been familiar to her; instead, it was the house of a stranger—except for something that caught her eye.

She picked up one framed picture displayed prominently on a bookshelf and studied the images of the smiling young man and the giggling little girl. She was probably about four then, her blonde hair bleached nearly white from the sun and bound in two tight pigtails that jutted out of her head like little wings. She couldn't remember ever being that happy—not in a long time anyway—and for a moment, sadness clouded her face.

Pushing away the sentimentality, she put the picture back in its place and headed towards the hallway, calling out cautiously, "Dad?"

The familiar voice slowly penetrated his sleep, waking him with a panicked start and irritating all of his pain centers. "Ellie?" Brass wasn't sure if it was part of his recurring dream or if she really was there.

"Yeah, it's me," came her emotionless voice from the hallway.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." She came into the room hesitantly, as if she were unsure of what might happen when she crossed the threshold, and stayed close to the door.

Brushing away the last remnants of sleep, Brass tilted his head slightly and asked, "This Todd guy, he didn't hurt you, did he?"

Ellie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "No, dad, no. He didn't hurt me. Todd's not like that." Edging closer to the bed, she asked, "Why do you always suspect the worst about every guy I'm with?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something obvious and sarcastic but he didn't feel like arguing right now. Instead he offered up an apologetic smile. "I'm your dad, Ellie. Even if you were running around with the Pope, I'd be suspicious."

Jim wasn't quite sure what happened but before he knew it, Ellie was perched on the side of the bed, unconcerned by his curious look.

"You asked me to meet you halfway. Well, this is it. Maybe I better just talk and you listen. I bet you do that pretty good."

Brass noted the touch of animosity in her voice but let it go. She was right: he was a good listener and he was willing to listen to anything she had to say. They had been at odds for so long, now that she was here and willing to talk, he was too afraid to say anything for fear of messing it up again.

Ellie was quiet for a few minutes before she heaved a deep sigh and finally began to speak. "The summer between fifth and sixth grade: Mom and I weren't getting along very well and you were gone all the time—working nights since that's all you ever did. It was really hot that day and mom wouldn't let me go to the movies with my friends. I went to my room and slammed my door, all pissed off." She rolled her eyes for added drama. "A few minutes later the phone rang and I heard mom start crying. I came downstairs thinking maybe grandma died but then she told me it was about you. I can still hear her voice: _your daddy's been shot_. She never told me if you were dead or alive—just _you were shot_."

Brass remembered that day all too well. He and his partner, Tommy Lupo, had been checking out a possible METH lab in a detached garage when the wigged-out homeowner opened fire. Brass spent six long minutes lying in his own soup, asking for God's forgiveness to every sin he'd ever committed while Tommy alternated between yelling at dispatch for an ambulance and telling him he was going to be okay. And he was okay. The bullet hit an artery but luckily, Tommy was there and in between cussing and yelling, he had managed to put enough pressure on the wound to keep Brass from bleeding to death.

He always wondered if Nancy was disappointed he didn't die in the shooting. She would have gotten his pension and been free of him without the hassle of a messy divorce. But listening to Ellie's memory of the incident made his gut twist in knots. He felt angry: towards Nancy for putting Ellie through that kind of hurt and towards himself for taking so long to figure it out.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, not really knowing what else to say. "I didn't know."

She turned around, fire darkening her eyes. "I hated you. I hated you for getting hurt and for almost dying but more than anything, I hated you for being a cop."

"What did you want from me?" The question wasn't laced with any animosity even though she would probably take it that way.

Surprisingly, she didn't. "I wanted a dad."

He heard the catch in her voice and his gut twisted again.

"Brittany Foster's dad was a garbage man. On a hot day he smelled like shit but he was home in the evenings and always there for her. You were never there."

"I'm sorry, Ellie. I can't undo what's been done but you gotta know that I'm here for you now. If you need anything…"

"Sure dad."

"I mean it, Ellie. You ever need anything, you call, okay?"

"Yeah."

They both heard the front door open and close followed by the sound of grocery bags being deposited in the kitchen.

"Who's that?"

"Probably Catherine. She's a friend. Been looking after me."

"Yeah, I met her at the hospital." Ellie picked up her bag and slid off the bed. "I need to go."

"Do you have to? We could order pizza or Chinese—whatever you want." He felt like they finally had some sort of dialog; he didn't want to lose it now.

Pulling the strap onto her shoulder, she motioned towards the window. "Todd's waiting." Then quietly, as if she were embarrassed by the admission, she said, "I just wanted to see you before we left."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Brass gave her a wink. "Sure, thanks." Biting the inside of his lip, he forced himself to smile as he looked up at her. "You still heading to California?"

She nodded. "Todd has some friends in L.A."

"Call me some time. Let me know how you're doing."

"I will, dad."

"If you need anything…"

"You said that already."

He nodded and smiled again, trying very hard to conceal the sadness he felt. He knew she'd never call. She gave him the same empty reply the last time she was in Vegas.

Stopping by the door, she turned back. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay." He could barely get the word out but it didn't matter. She had already disappeared down the hall.

Brass stared at the ceiling and took a deep, shuddering breath then blew it out, unable to stop the moisture from filling his eyes or the single tear from spilling onto his cheek.

Catherine stood in silence, watching him. It was hard to believe this was the same man she'd seen in the interrogation room going nose to nose with some of the worst kind of scum. But now it was all becoming very clear: the tough guy routine was all an act. The hard-nosed homicide detective was really a softy at heart.

Wiping away the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand then seeing her standing there and knowing that she'd witnessed it all, he asked, "So you gonna rat me out?"

"Not a chance." Walking into the room, Catherine heard the front door open and close. "You just love your kid."

Brass stared into the distance for a long time. "Grissom was wrong."

"He was?" she asked with mock disbelief. "When?"

"You remember that case we worked, the one where we found explosives in the house?"

Catherine nodded, clearly recalling the family in question. "Screwed up kid, overprotective mother."

He looked up through dark lashes and grimaced, not from the pain. "That's the one. Gil and I were having a drink, talking about the family. He said," Brass looked up, recalling the words as best he could, "_Unconditional love between a parent and a child is biological_." His eyes slowly shifted to hers. "It's not always."

"It's not always what?"

"Unconditional love isn't always biological." He dropped his gaze, his lips in a tight line as he tried to find his courage. He didn't know why he wanted to tell Catherine but he did. Lifting his eyes once again, he shook his head and spoke quietly, "Ellie's not mine. My ex, Nancy, she messed around with another cop, got pregnant. We never told Ellie." He looked away, embarrassed by his admission and what she must think of him now.

Catherine sat down on the bed next to him. "And you raised her as your own daughter?"

She knew how hard it must have been to make that admission and how much he must have trusted her to tell her. There was no way she'd ever tell him about his delirious confession now.

He nodded.

Her eyes widened as the admiration she felt for Jim Brass grew several more notches. The man had integrity, a quality sadly missing from so many of the men she generally encountered any more.

Brass idly tapped his fingers against his thigh. "You know, I keep wondering whether it was the right thing to do, keeping it from her like we did, and how much more she'll hate me if she ever finds out."

"You ever going to tell her?"

"I don't know. I guess that's what eats me up inside—not knowing what to do. There's no guarantee her mother won't tell her—or her real father for that matter. I don't know if Nancy ever told him. There's not a lot of love between us so I could see him doing that to Ellie to get back at me."

"He one of the ones you busted?"

"Yeah."

"Then he's got a grudge and that could be a problem." She saw the look of concern cross his face and knew that she wasn't telling him anything he hadn't already thought about. Trying to put his mind at ease, she said, "You know, Jim, Ellie does love you. She didn't have to come back today but she did."

"I like to think she does but somewhere along the way, the hurt got wrapped around hate and that's a tough combination to overcome." He was quiet for a long time, staring past the bedroom door but not really seeing anything. "Don't make the same mistakes with Lindsey that I made with my Ellie, Cath."

"I don't plan on it."

He knew she'd probably walk out the door after what he was about to say but he had to say it regardless. "You're headed down that same path: working too many hours, missing birthdays and school plays—they remember that. You got more pressure too, being a single mom."

"I know," Catherine replied with a deep sigh. It was a sore point that she really didn't feel like discussing with Jim Brass or anyone else for that matter but at least Jim had been there and whether she liked it or not, she knew he was right.

She hadn't been completely blind to the signs. Lindsey was already starting to act out. Catherine had been quick to dismiss it as reacting to Eddie's death but deep down she knew that was only part of it.

"What am I supposed to do? Quit my job and be a stay at home mom?"

"Hey, my wife stayed at home and Ellie was still a problem. Now, I'm not saying Ellie had a couple of role model parents cause she sure as hell didn't, but how many times have we seen kids from a good family go bad? There are no guarantees so you just do the best that you can."

"And hope they don't end up as another statistic."

"Yeah." He leaned his head on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling.

Catherine didn't have to guess where his thoughts were now and felt a sting of guilt for going there. "Ellie's going to be okay, Jim. Give her time to sort things out and she'll come around."

"But will it be too late?"

Brass looked at her with such emotion that Catherine found herself wishing she had an answer.

"I worry about her. I worry that she's going to get hooked up with another Keith Driscoll and she'll be in the ground before me. Parents should never outlive their kids, you know?"

"I know." As a discomforting silence settled between them, Catherine knew Jim's thoughts were still on Ellie and desperately wanted to change the subject. Curious about the faded scar on his shoulder, just visible under the immobilizing sling, she asked, "What happened there?"

He followed her gaze then turned and looked at her again, frowning. "I got shot."

She hadn't expected that answer. "You never mentioned it."

He shook his head. "There's a lot of things I never mentioned. There's a lot in my past I'm not too proud of."

For some reason that little revelation didn't surprise Catherine. She never really thought about it until now but apart from his daughter, an ex-wife and a few generic stories about New Jersey, Jim really _didn't_ talk about his past very much. Sure he had more than a few commendations—his office was full of them—but Catherine could easily imagine more than one entry in his jacket over the years.

It was no secret that Holly Gribbs' death had brought on a distinct attitude adjustment in Brass; he wasn't the same man he'd once been. Nevertheless, it wasn't hard to imagine what he must have been like as a cop back in Newark. She had jokingly referred to him as brash and though that moniker might not fit him now, she was certain it had at one time.

There was still an air about Jim Brass, like he'd never really been afraid of anything or anyone, like he could have very easily been one self-confident, tough, son-of-a-bitch, full of sharp edges and steel points. But that was years ago, before age and weariness eroded the self-confidence, before the humbling death of a young CSI mellowed him, before the sharp edges acquired a few nicks and dings. Still, Brass might have taken his share of hits over the years, might have lost a little of his physical toughness, Catherine doubted he'd lost any of his mental toughness. She'd yet to meet anyone who could intimidate Jim Brass.

But in the last few days Catherine had seen something in Brass that she'd never noticed before, something obvious and yet carefully hidden behind a perfectly honed façade: sadness. Whether it was Ellie, his past or the job, it was as if he'd seen far too much of humanity's corrupt underbelly and it was starting to take its toll. Cynicism had become his crutch, the only thing that truly kept him from falling down.

"You getting sentimental on me, Cath?"

Catherine looked up, realizing he was looking at her in that slightly uncomfortable way that left her feeling exposed—like he was looking into her soul and uncovering all the secrets and desires she'd tried so hard to keep buried. The strange thing was, she didn't mind. For the first time in her life, Catherine Willows looked past the slightly imperfect exterior and saw what she'd been missing.

She'd always had such rotten luck with men but maybe it was because she spent so much time looking in the wrong places when sitting right beside her was what she'd really been looking for all along. A man with integrity, who'd learned from his mistakes and was smart enough not to repeat them; a man who'd spent a lifetime doing what he thought was right yet self-effacing enough to admit when he was wrong. Jim Brass was a good man and it had taken an explosion to finally open her eyes.

It was time to admit what she'd been trying to rationalize all along. "Yeah, I am."

Cocking an eyebrow, surprised at her honesty, he decided to take a step towards breaching his own barrier. "That kiss the other day, did you regret it?"

"At first, yes."

"Oh."

She reached for his hand and pressed it between both of hers. "Jim, it's not for the reasons you think. I regretted it because I blindsided you, not because I didn't want to."

He let out a deep, contemplative sigh and shook his head. "I'd be lying if I said I understood what's been going on between us. I mean, I kinda like it but it's confusing as hell."

"Confusing how?" She wondered if this was related to the discussion they'd had back at the hospital. Neither one of them had mentioned it but she could sense he was still a little apprehensive about something.

He shrugged, not really sure what to say. He was a guy; communication had always been one of his shortcomings. But he wanted to try to explain. He felt like he owed it to her.

"Catherine, you and I both know I'm not the type of guy that generally gets your attention but unless I'm really off the mark, I've been getting the sense that there's more to all this than just being good friends. I guess the part that I don't get is why now?" His eyes were soft and seductive, his expression completely unquestioning even as he asked, "What changed?"

Catherine knew that look; she'd seen him use it in the interrogation room more times than she could remember and now she understood why. It was calculated, perfectly honed to make her feel comfortable and relaxed, like she could confess her sins and trust that he'd never tell anyone. Damn, he was good.

"It's hard to say why but let's just say the explosion opened my eyes to a few truths about myself and about you. I've seen a different side to you, one that I find very attractive and would like to know better."

"So it has nothing to do with seeing me in my Jockey's?"

"Definitely a plus."

He grew serious again. "I was thinking maybe this was all because you felt guilty."

"Guilty? About what?"

"About not getting injured in the blast."

"Survivor's guilt?" She thought about it for a minute. "I guess that might have been part of it at first, I don't know. But you know, Jim, sometimes you just have to accept that things are what they are and not try to figure out the underlying reason why."

"Don't ever let Grissom hear you say that." He grinned at her, his eyes twinkling first with amusement, then with curiosity. "So you kissed me because you wanted to, huh?"

"Yes, I did. I know this has to be confusing for you. It's been a little hard for me to understand as well. I mean, I remember you asking me out a couple of times and I shot you down pretty good."

He looked away, feeling a little foolish at his previous failings. "Yeah, I guess it's no secret I had a thing for you."

Seeing the veiled hurt in his expression made her feel just a little remorseful. She'd never really known if he was serious—not that she would have said yes. But she might have been a bit more tactful.

"So, how about once you feel up to it, we have dinner?"

He looked at her crossways, wondering if she were really serious. "You asking me out, Cath?"

"I am."

"I'm not a cheap date, you know. I like to be wined and dined. And don't expect me to put out on the first date either. I'm not that kind of guy."

She couldn't help but laugh, especially after he batted his eyelashes at her. "Something tells me you won't be putting out for a while."

She might have been joking but it was the truth. He'd come to the realization that it was going to take some time before he got his strength, not to mention his stamina, back. None of it mattered though because his libido was practically non-existent right now, a problem that definitely made him uneasy. Maybe he was wrong about Catherine but he'd always had the impression that she was a woman who needed a great deal of physical intimacy—sex—in a relationship. She might be okay with cuddling and kissing at first but eventually she'd lose patience and move on.

"It's going to take time, Jim, but I'm willing to wait."

Evidently, his concerns were transparent.

She leaned forward, closing the distance between them, acutely aware of the quiet intensity in his dark eyes. Catherine wanted him to know that her feelings were genuine, that she had no regrets, but more than anything else, she wanted him to trust her.

Brushing her lips against his jaw, his chin, his lower lip, she hesitated, giving him only a moment to protest before she kissed him.

But Brass didn't protest. Instead he sat impossibly still, giving in to the blatant assault on his mouth, reveling in the feel of her body pressed against his right side, her hand dangerously high on his thigh. Okay, maybe his libido wasn't dead after all.

The kiss was hot and deep and when they finally drew apart, Jim felt as if all his fears and worries were utterly meaningless. New beginnings and second chances: that's what he'd told Sara, that's what he was telling himself now. If Catherine was willing to take this further, then so was he.

Almost two weeks ago Jim Brass had gone into a house with the sole purpose of getting everyone out and nearly lost his life. He'd never guessed that out of something so traumatic and chaotic, something so unexpected, so profoundly comforting could emerge.

Maybe getting blown up wasn't so bad after all.

xx

Epilogue to follow…


	13. Epilogue

**Crime Scene, Las Vegas**

Standing just outside the front door to the small apartment, Jim Brass unconsciously flexed the fingers on his left hand as he waited on the black Denali to arrive. It had been a hot day but now, as the sun sunk below the horizon and bathed the area in muted shadows, the temperature had cooled considerably. Still, it wasn't enough to diffuse the stench coming from inside.

Stretching his back against the familiar twinge of discomfort, he waved off the offer from one of the uniformed officers to take over. Physical therapy had alleviated a lot of the muscle pain but this was his lingering reminder. He still wasn't one hundred percent and probably wouldn't be for another few months but at least he had been cleared to return to work. Mostly, he had been tasked with paperwork and other administrative duties that generally went with being a captain, but when the call came in tonight and no one else was available, he welcomed the opportunity to get out into the field again. However, had he known what the case entailed, he might have rethought his decision.

Watching the traffic go by, none of them the SUV he was waiting for, he thought about Ellie. He hadn't seen or spoken to her since she walked out of his house two months ago and he couldn't help but wonder how she was. They still had a long way to go but for the first time in a lot of years, Ellie had actually opened up to him. If it took an explosion and a near death experience to get them this far, he'd do it again. Blood or no blood, she was his daughter and he wasn't about to give up on her yet. Hopefully, she wouldn't give up on him either.

Looking up at the Vegas sky, seeing the sun's final breath erupt in a magnificent display of oranges and reds, his thoughts shifted.

He still had trouble with the psychological effects of the explosion. Maybe that would pass with time but he couldn't help feeling a little unsettled knowing the bomber's identity remained a mystery. His dreams were still disquieting, plagued by the same desperate scenario only sometimes it was Sara, other times it was Ellie or Catherine, once it was his ex-wife--not exactly a nightmare. Catherine understood what he was going through; she had from the beginning. She was a comfort to him, someone he'd come to depend upon when the demons got to be too much, and for that he would always be grateful. Although he'd never admit it to her or anyone else, he knew he was in love with her. He also knew it was completely one-sided. They were each filling a much-needed void and sooner or later she would figure out that Jim Brass wasn't the excitement she craved and move on. He told himself he was okay with that.

Then again, maybe his own self-doubts were merely raising their ugly head again and he was completely underestimating her. They'd been cultivating this _relationship_ two months now and she showed no signs of getting bored with him yet. True to her word, Catherine had been patient, never pushing him to do more than he could, and thankfully, when the moment finally happened, _all_ his parts were functioning perfectly. If the unrestrained use of his name that morning were any indication, Catherine was very satisfied. He sure as hell was.

Glancing at his watch, he started to wonder how much longer when he noticed the dark truck pull into the drive.

Gil Grissom came up the stairs first followed closely by Sara Sidle. Jim had heard through the grapevine that Grissom had gone into his silently protective mode ever since the explosion. Of course Grissom still kept his feelings to himself but at least it was a start.

"Have I got one for you." Brass led the way through the open door and stopped beside the half-naked body lying on the floor. "Meet Roy Rivers, age 29, now deceased."

As Jim moved aside to let the two investigators pass, Sara turned and flashed a knowing smile at him. In return he gave her a wink. Neither had to say a word; they both knew.

Grissom leaned in, sniffed then screwed up his nose in disgust. "Is that what I think it is?"

Brass fanned the air with his hand. "It is. Our boy, Roy, got really mad at his girlfriend so he decided to take a dump in the middle of the kitchen and then proceeded to fling feces at her and," he held out his hand and made a broad sweeping motion, "the entire area you see before you. I'd say he had plenty of fiber in his diet."

Gil looked around the room: at the flies buzzing around the dark spots on the ceiling, the walls, smeared all over the floor and countertops. "Roy was saving up."

"I take it the girlfriend wasn't very pleased," Sara said, a grimace on her face. It never ceased to amaze her what people did to each other in the heat of anger.

"You could say that." Standing by the body, Brass said, "I expect you'll find her prints on the cast iron skillet over there." He started to leave the room.

"Hey, Jim."

He stopped by the door and turned to look at Grissom. "Yeah?"

"It's good to have you back."

Brass looked at the muck all over the crime scene and grinned. "It's good to be back."

**The End**

**A/N: **My thanks to everyone for reading and especially to those who've left a review. I really appreciate it!


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